


Celebrations

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The combination of cultures on Saint Marie allows for plenty of celebrations. Richard isn't always up for a party, but his team loves to have a good time. They find ways to share traditions and learn about each other.</p><p>This started out as a collection of ficlets, meant to be stand-alone chapters. But somehow, they turned into a sequence, which runs through several celebrations starting with Halloween.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Soul, a Soul, a Soul cake

**Author's Note:**

> I started this set of stories a while ago, and have a few celebrations drafted. Yesterday was Halloween, and it struck me that I had no idea if they celebrate Halloween on Saint Marie. So I did some googling and discovered that in general, the Caribbean does not celebrate Halloween, but I found a way to write about it anyhow.

Richard looked at the calendar and frowned. It was almost Halloween, and Honoré seemed to be doing nothing about it. He remembered the Venerators’ costumes. Solly in his skeleton costume looked ready for Halloween. Richard would have thought the Voodoo crowd would be planning a big celebration. But then, maybe every day was Halloween for that lot.

“Is something wrong?” Camille asked when she saw the puzzled frown.

“Not wrong, but I’m curious. I’m looking at upcoming events, and I don’t see anything about staffing for Halloween. What goes on here for Halloween?”

“All Hallows Eve? What should be going on?” asked Camille.

“I don’t know, costumes, parties, jack-o-lanterns…” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s Halloween.”

“Right, All Hallows Eve. The night before la Toussaint.”

“All Saints Day.”

Camille rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, la fête de Toussaint. It’s a holy day of obligation, and in France it’s a public holiday. I suppose it was here, too, when Saint Marie was French. Now we’re English so it’s only a church holy day. Actually the fête is for two days, All Saints and then All Souls. But only All Saints is a public holiday.”

“So nothing for Halloween in France, then?”

“There is some, mostly as an import from the US. A lot of people resent it as it’s all just commercial. And here on Saint Marie, we don’t celebrate it because it’s sort of demonic, you know? The holy day is more important.”

“So no mischief, no costumes, no going around for candy here? Then no special needs for staffing to maintain order.”

“No.” Camille paused and looked at Richard. “Let me guess, you’re disappointed because you were going to dress up in a costume.”

“No. I was concerned about staffing.”

“No, you want to dress up. Come on, tell us who you’d be. If you don’t tell us, we’ll keep guessing.” Camille didn’t really believe Richard was a costume party kind of guy, but she couldn’t help winding him up. “Let’s see, maybe a vampire? A pirate? A clown?”

Dwayne joined in with, “Someone scary from crime history. Jack the Ripper?”

“No!” Richard said. “This is a childish conversation. I do not dress up in costumes, scary or silly. Can we please just get back to work? I’m sorry I asked.”

Camille was not ready to let it go. “Fidel, what do you think?”

“Sherlock Holmes?”

Richard looked up in amazement, “Good guess, Fidel. I did dress as Holmes for a party when I was at university.”

Camille grinned. “I can picture you, with a pipe in your mouth, and wearing that funny hat.”

“Deerstalker.”

“Did you have a friend go with you as Watson?” Camille asked. She was startled to see Richard blush. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, no it’s something. Tell us!”

“All right, if you must know, I did not have a Watson, I had an Irene Adler.”

“A girl? With Sherlock Holmes?” Dwayne sounded astonished.

Fidel, who had read the books explained, “She was a character in one of the stories. Not his girlfriend or anything like that. He was sort of fascinated, but too interested in his detective work to like her that way. I think…did I get that right, Chief?”

“Yes, that’s a good description, Fidel.”

“So if they weren’t a couple, why did your date go as her?” asked Camille, curious to know if Richard’s ‘Irene’ was a friend or a real girlfriend.

“Well, she couldn’t very well have gone as Watson. No costume could have hidden, um, well, she could not have passed for Watson.” Richard’s discomfort increased. WHY had he let the conversation drift in this direction? He remembered the costume all too well, tight and low-cut, designed to show Irene as a loose woman. It got his date a lot of attention. 

“Ahhh, what did she look like?” Camille was not going to let this drop. “Someone worth ogling?” 

“Sadly, yes. One of the men who ogled her at the party became her next boyfriend. It was my last year at university. Then I grew up and became a policeman. Instead of running around looking like an idiot, I was rounding up the idiots who got out of hand.” 

“Hey, Chief,” Dwayne looked up from his computer. “A few of the resorts are doing a Halloween weekend for their guests. You could go to that.”

“Dressing up in silly costumes is for children,” said Richard, in voice that he hoped would end the conversation. 

“Then did you dress up in costume and have a party when you were a child?” Camille was still curious.

“No. I was away at school and we didn’t do any of that.”

“Your school didn’t have a party for the kids? But you just said Halloween is for children.” 

“It would have been too much of a distraction.”

“Didn’t you mind?”

“No. That was just the way things were. Now that I think of it, when we got a new cook, she made soul cakes for us. They were a surprise for after All Saints Day services.”

“What is a soul cake?” asked Dwaye.

“It’s a sort of spiced shortbread. In the middle ages, children would go around offering to pray for the dead in return for a soul cake. The cakes have a cross on them to remember the dead.”

“That sounds like trick or treating,” said Camille.

“Some scholars say it is the origin of trick or treating. That’s kind of funny, when you think about it. All Hallows Eve in the Christian calendar is thought to have originated from a Celtic pagan festival. Then you have All Saints Day and children going house to house to offer prayers. And from that you get the extortion of ‘give us a treat or we’ll play a trick on you.’ And from there it moved onto scary demonic costumes. It's reverting to paganism.”

Fidel got up to collect a paper from the printer. “I found a recipe for soul cakes. I’m going to see if Juliet will make some. It would be a nice treat after we visit her grandparents’ graves. Maybe I’ll try to teach Rosie the song that goes with them.”

“You visit graves?” Richard asked.

“Yes. Mass on the holy day and then visiting graves. It’s from the French tradition to visit graves and bring flowers,” Fidel replied. 

“From la fete des Toussaint,” added Camille. “We may be under English rule, but we still honor our French heritage.”

-o-o-o-o-

Since All Saints Day was not a public holiday on Saint Marie, most people took time off from work to go to church, but did not take the whole day off. Richard and Dwayne manned the station that morning, as they knew Fidel and Camille would be going to Mass. Richard found it amusing that Catherine was not bothered if her daughter missed Sunday Mass, but expected Camille to go to church on holy days. 

It was quiet, so Richard stepped onto the veranda for some fresh air that just might be delivered by the mighty two km/hour breeze. He heard the church bell ring and saw people leaving the church. Fidel had told Richard he and his family would visit the graves and have a family gathering on All Souls Day, as it would fall on a Saturday this year. True to his word, Fidel kissed his wife and daughter and headed toward the station. As Richard watched him approach, he caught sight of Camille and Catherine. Mother and daughter embraced, then Catherine walked downhill toward La Kaz. Camille turned to walk uphill, toward the cemetery. 

“Dwayne?” Richard looked in through the doorway. “Fidel is on his way. I’m going out for a bit.”

“Sure, Chief. I’ll call you if something happens.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard loosened his tie as he walked briskly up the hill. It was too bloody hot to be doing this. Back in England, the air would be nippy. Trees would be losing their leaves, some already bare. There might even be a grey sky for a solemn day. But here on Saint Marie, it was hot as ever. 

He looked around and thought it was like a living tableau of past cases. He saw Solly Jackson’s daughter and widow, as well as families of other murder victims. And then he spotted Camille, standing by a grave with a low headstone. As he walked toward her, she heard his footsteps and turned.

“Oh, Richard. Sorry, I’ll be back to work in a minute.”

He removed one flower from the bouquet he’d just bought in the market and placed the others on the grave, next to a larger bouquet. He handed the single flower to Camille.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I’m not here to drag you back to work. I saw you heading this way after Mass, and thought you might, you know, like some company for the walk back.” 

“It was kind of you to bring flowers.”

“Yours are lovely,” Richard said as he gestured toward the grave.

“Not mine. I guess her mother went to the early Mass and brought these then. I didn’t bring any flowers. I hadn’t intended to come up here, but I started thinking about her…” Camille sniffled and Richard reached for a handkerchief, but she shook her head and took a deep breath to regain her composure.

“I know that friends and family usually are the ones to bring flowers. But she was your friend, and I just wanted to, um,” Richard paused for a moment, and Camille smiled, wondering if he was going to say _be supportive_. But he surprised her by saying, “you know, remind you that today is to celebrate her life, not mourn her death. I know her life was cut short and she didn’t get to do all she hoped for. But you both had your friendship growing up, so try to remember that instead of thinking about her death.”

Camille nodded.

“I’ll, um, just wait…” Richard gestured to a slight distance from the grave, but Camille shook her head and turned around. 

“No, I’m ready to go.”

Richard held out his hand, and Camille took it. 

“Thank you,” she said. “For the flowers and the support. Maman made soul cakes. Come back to La Kaz to try one? With some tea?”

“Mixing an English tradition with the French?” he asked.

“Why not?” Camille smiled. “Maybe it will make up for you not getting to dress up like Sherlock Holmes yesterday.”

Richard squeezed her hand and said, “You know what would make up for that? A remembrance in honor of _today._ Tell me a story about you and Aimee as girls.”

“Hmm, there are so many. One time, I think we were about twelve…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a song that goes with asking for a soul cake:  
> A soul, a soul, a soul cake  
> Please, good missus a soul cake  
> An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry  
> Any good thing to make us all merry.  
> One for Peter, two for Paul,  
> Three for Him who made us all.
> 
> Soul cakes can be as simple as a spicy shortbread or a more complicated yeast-leavened bread.


	2. Remember, Remember, the Fifth of November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bonfire night!

November 3

Richard tried to hide his disappointment. Reggae music? For Guy Fawkes Night? At least there would be fireworks. But no bonfires, no Guys to burn? He had seen the posters around town announcing fireworks, music, and street food. But until the official staffing information came through, he hadn’t realized how many of the usual activities had been replaced with “island” activities.

“Do you need a permit to have a bonfire?” he asked Camille.

“No. What makes you ask?”

“In England, we have bonfires for Guy Fawkes Night. It’s a community thing, big and organized. I haven’t heard anything about bonfires, so I was wondering about it.”

“Oh, Guy Fawkes, right,” Camille answered. “We have fireworks instead of a bonfire. Haven’t you seen the posters?”

“Yes, but you don’t burn a Guy?”

“Why would we burn somebody?” Camille was aghast. “Nobody burns witches anymore, Richard.”

“No, it isn’t a person, it’s a…a figure…um, an effigy, like a scarecrow. To represent Guy Fawkes.”

“Who was he, anyway?” asked Dwayne.

Fidel, who had a knack for googling at the right moment said, “He was part of a plot to blow up Parliament and kill the king a long time ago.”

“So the holiday is named for an anarchist?” said Dwayne. “I mean, this guy was going to blow up the government, and you put his name on the day?”

“We don’t celebrate the _attempt._ We celebrate the foiling of it and the execution of the consiprators,” said Richard. 

“Were they burned?” asked Camille.

“No. Hanged.”

“Then why do you burn the Guy?”

“I don’t know. I guess since we have bonfires, it’s the obvious thing to do with him. Now that I think about it, I’m a little surprised Saint Marie is celebrating at all. Fawkes was a Catholic and part of a plot to assassinate the Protestant King. Early celebrations of this event stirred up a lot of anti-Catholic sentiment. Considering the roots of the island…” Richard shrugged. 

“We haven’t been English all that long,” said Camille. “So we’re just in it for the party.”

-o-o-o-o-

November 5

“Absolutely not, Richard! You are not working tonight. It’s a job for the uniformed—” Camille broke off to answer the phone. “Honoré Police Station.”

Something in Camille’s smile made Richard nervous.

“Well, hello! Yes, he is. I know this call is costing a fortune, but I must take a minute to ask you to please tell him he should take the night off. It’s his—and your—holiday, after all.”

Richard quickly pushed the blinking button on his phone and heard, _You must be Camille. How lovely to finally put a voice to the name. How sweet of you to be concerned for him, and did you know, this is one of his favorite—_

“Mum!” Richard yelled into the phone, “How are you?”

Camille hung up the phone when Richard amazed her by copying her snap-point move. From where she sat, she couldn’t hear what his mother was saying, but apparently it was a lot because all he could say was “Mum” and “But I.” Finally, his half of the conversation included whole sentences she could follow.

“Yes, Mum, we do. Yes, tonight. Probably won’t be as big as Croyden’s; they always went all-out.”

He paused and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mum, but that won’t be necessary. They don’t have bonfires here, just fireworks. I know, but remember Saint Marie hasn’t always been English, so they don’t have the background in our long-ago history. It isn’t important here.”

Pause

“No, Mum, I’m not denigrating history or my degree. It’s just that things are different here. Look, I’ve got to go. Safety meeting down at the site. Right. Yes.”

Pause

“I’m sure it will be the best Guy ever, but I really must go.”

Pause

“Right. Security team is waiting.”

Pause

“No, I can’t send Camille, she’s got work to do here. Must go, Mum. Love to you and Dad. Happy fifth!”

Richard hung up the phone.

“Security team? Do you always lie to your mother like that?” asked Camille.

“Only when she repeats herself for the third time,” Richard replied with a sigh. “So, back to tonight, then. I don’t think my nationality should excuse me from work on a busy night.”

“And I think it should. We’ve done all the advance planning. The boys are checking the area now, so there’s nothing left to worry about. Take the night off and enjoy the fireworks.” 

Before Richard could answer, the phone rang again. Camille picked up.

“Honoré Police Station.”

_Oh, good, it’s you. Has Richard left yet?_

“Sorry?”

_For his meeting. I want to talk to you._

“Oh. Um, I can get that information for you, if you’ll just hold a moment.” Camille put the call on hold and started scrolling though the calendar page on her screen. She looked at Richard and said, “If you want to be so attentive to your job, why don’t you check on the boys?”

“Good idea,” Richard answered as he left the station.

Camille hit the line button to retrieve the call. “Okay, he just left. What can I do for you, Mrs. Poole?”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille had just sent the emails when Richard, Dwayne, and Fidel returned.

“So, is everything ready?” she asked.

“Yes, perimeters established and plenty of safety signs,” Fidel answered.

“See?” Camille looked at Richard, “It’s all taken care of. You should be able to see the fireworks from your house, so settle in with a beer and enjoy the night.”

“It isn’t party time yet,” said Richard, attempting to get his team back on track. “I’m sure everyone has work to do?”

It was a quiet day, so there wasn’t actually a lot of work to do. They all sat at their desks, checking reports, filing old case documents, and trying to keep busy. 

Camille checked the clock. How could she get her party team out of the building? 

“I think the food stalls are setting up,” she said. “Maybe someone should go see that everyone is in place and that there are no problems?”

“I’ll go!” said Dwayne, whose patience with paperwork was wearing thin.

“I’ll go, too,” said Fidel. “Is that okay, Chief?”

“Yes, fine. It’s quiet, so you might as well escape for a bit. And Dwayne? Don’t overwork the courtesy samples, please?”

“Right, Chief,” and with a cheeky grin at Richard and a wink at Camille, Dwayne bounded out of the station.

-o-o-o-o-

By the end of the work day, three members of the team were ready to close up for the day. Richard said he would stay a bit longer, “just in case.” In case of _what,_ he couldn’t say. 

“It will be okay, Chief,” said Dwayne. “We haven’t had problems on Guy Fawkes night before.”

“That’s true,” Fidel added. “Lots of families come into town for the fireworks, so we don’t get a rowdy crowd.”

“Fine. You all go and enjoy yourselves. I’ve got a bit of paperwork to do yet.”

Camille rolled her eyes, but followed the two other officers out of the station. 

Almost an hour later, Camille returned to see Richard sitting in the fading light. He appeared to be piling pencils on his desk as if he was building a bonfire. She sighed. Poor man was probably homesick. 

“Hey,” she called out. “Anybody home?”

“Camille? What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. There is no need for you to stay late, but since you did, I brought dinner for you. Oh, don’t make a face. It isn’t spicy. Maman made it just for you. It’s _poulet de Guy._ Guy’s chicken.”

“The French don’t celebrate Guy Fawkes. Why is there a dish for it?”

“There isn’t. Maman just called it that. Here, eat it while it’s still warm.” Camille set the plate on Richard’s desk and peeled off the aluminium foil. 

“It’s burnt.”

“Just like the Guy! Isn’t that clever?” Camille grinned at him.

“But it’s burnt.”

“Not really. It’s marinated in a honey sauce, and the sugar caramelizes, making the surface dark. She makes it all the time. We just gave it a name in honor of the day.”

Richard took the utensils Camille held out and poked at the chicken suspiciously. It was clear that she would not go away until he had at least tried it, so he cut a piece of chicken and tasted it.

“This is good!”

“Of course it is.”

“Would you like some?”

“I ate at La Kaz. And when you finish, I’ll drive you home. The music is starting, and you won’t want to be around for that.”

Richard finished the meal, which he had to admit was delicious. While he busied himself shutting down his computer and tidying his desk, Camille ducked into the loo and sent a text message. She dawdled a bit on the porch, looking down at the street fair. Richard looked at her impatiently.

“Camille? Are you ready to go? First you pester me to go home, and now you’re dragging your feet.”

“I’m just looking at the street fair. I think it’s nice to have events like this to bring people together. We’re lucky that we have a warm climate. It must be awfully cold to celebrate outdoors in November in England.”

“The bonfires help with that. So do warm drinks.”

On the way home, Camille asked questions about the bonfires and Guys. After Richard explained about the competitions, she said that he should suggest it for next year.

“Oh, no. If I suggest it, they’ll make me judge.”

“What if people voted? Different organizations and shops and schools could put their Guys on display and people could vote on which was the best?”

“Do you think people would want to do that?”

“Haven’t you noticed how much we love a party? Anything that adds to the fun would be welcome. I think—”

“Oh my God! Camille, look!” Richard pointed to the beach and pulled out his mobile. “We need to call the fire brigade.”

“No we don’t.” Camille snatched the mobile from his hand as voices could be heard from the beach, chanting a rhyme that Richard found very familiar:

“Remember, remember, the fifth of November  
Gunpowder, treason, and plot.  
I see no reason why gunpowder treason  
Should ever be forgot.”

Dwayne, Fidel, and Juliet repeated the rhyme. From her father’s arms, Rosie waved at the newcomers.

Richard stood rooted to the spot.

“Surprise,” said Camille softly. “Your mother called me back and explained that this is one of your favorite holidays. So we put something together as quickly as we could. Come on.”

Still speechless, Richard followed Camille to the beach.

“Hey, Chief,” said Dwayne, holding out a beer for the boss.

“Thank you,” said Richard, accepting the beer. “Thank you all.”

“I know it’s only a small fire,” said Fidel. “I looked online and I couldn’t believe how huge some of the ones in England are. We made a small Guy, too. You should be the one to throw it onto the fire. It’s by the house. I didn’t want Rosie to see it and think it’s a doll.”

“Ah. Good point. English kids see the Guy burned, but it will have been on display, so they know it’s just a dummy. Let’s wait until she’s distracted by the fireworks.”

“And we have one more surprise,” said Juliet. She held out a piece of cake.

Richard’s eyes widened. “Parkin?”

“Not exactly. Fidel found a few recipes on line and Camille got your mother’s recipe. I didn’t have any oatmeal on hand, so I made a Caribbean ginger cake.”

“It smells wonderful.” Richard picked up the cake and took a bite. “Ohhh, delicious. Not quite the same cake, but an excellent substitute.”

Pop! the fireworks started. Fidel sat Rosie on the sand in front of him, and the others watched as Richard tossed the little effigy onto the fire. He chanted another rhyme he remembered from celebrations he’d been to.

“Guy, Guy, Guy,  
Poke him in the eye,  
Put him on the fire  
And there let him die.”

When the fireworks were over and the fire was dying down, the party ended. As people collected their belongings to go home, Richard thanked them.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you for doing this. Remember, remember, the fifth of November. I’ll always remember this as the best one ever.”


	3. Gobble, Gobble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catherine isn’t thankful when a planned romance for Camille turns into a “bromance” for someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to readers on my "side of the pond!"

Camille stood in the doorway to the kitchen at La Kaz and watched her mother poke at an enormous… something… sealed in plastic. Too big to be a chicken or a duck.

“Maman, what IS that?”

“Oh, hello Camille. It’s a turkey. You’ve never seen one before?”

“Yes, but not on Saint Marie. Where did you get it? And why is it sealed like that? You usually cook from fresh ingredients.”

“I got it from one of my suppliers. Nobody raises turkeys on Saint Marie, so I had to get a frozen one. I’m checking to see if it has defrosted yet. I need to cook it on Thursday.”

“What’s happening on Thursday and why do you need a turkey for it?”

“It’s for Thanksgiving. And you’re coming to dinner.”

“Maman, it isn’t Thanksgiving on Saint Marie. That’s an American holiday.”

“I know, but I met an American who’s here all alone, and feeling sad about missing Thanksgiving, so I said I’d cook a Thanksgiving dinner.”

Ah, now Camille understood. “Who is this American?”

“Oh, someone from the hospital,” Catherine did her best to sound casual.

“Hmm, let me guess, a doctor? Young? Single?” Camille frowned and continued before her mother could answer, “Please tell me this isn’t an elaborate blind date!”

“No, of course not, ma chère. But since there will be so much to eat, you may as well have some turkey.”

“How much does that thing weigh?”

“Just under seven kilos.”

“Well, with such a big turkey, we need help eating it. I’ll invite the team! And Juliet and Rosie, too. We won’t have Pilgrims and Native Americans, but we’ll be very international. Think how festive that will be!” Camille gave her mother an evil smile. “And the poor doctor won’t feel like _he’s_ on the menu.”

-o-o-o-o-

Camille walked into the station and announced, “Dinner at La Kaz on Thursday. Everyone’s invited. Fidel, that includes Juliet and Rosie.”

“Are we celebrating something?” Fidel asked.

“Thanksgiving.”

“But—” Dwayne began.

“I know!” Camille stopped him. “We don’t celebrate a Thanksgiving Day. But my mother is cooking a turkey dinner for an American who’s here all alone and missing his family.”

Dwayne laughed, “Oh, your mother never gives up, does she? Hmm, doctor?”

“Lawyer?” asked Fidel.

“Indian Chief?” Richard threw in. “Sorry, that isn’t culturally sensitive, but it is part of the rhyme. Actually, though, that would be appropriate, given that the first Thanksgiving in America was a dinner with the settlers and Native Americans.”

“Do you celebrate Thanksgiving in England, Chief?”

“Not as a formal holiday, no. But harvest festivals and services to give thanks for a good harvest are still held in some places. In rural parishes, churches may be decorated with autumn veg and foliage to represent the harvest. That’s usually around the time of the September full moon, also known as the Harvest Moon. As far as I know, only the US and Canada have official Thanksgiving holidays. I believe they’re on different dates.”

Fidel, the King of Googling, said, “You’re right, Chief. The Canadian Thanksgiving is in October, and the American one is in November. Umm, the date is the fourth Thursday in November—so that’s this week.”

“Has your mother got a Caribbean recipe for turkey?” asked Richard warily.

“No. She’s doing a traditional roast turkey. Now don’t tell me you have an objection to turkey!”

“Not at all. I quite like it. Haven’t had it since my last Christmas at home.”

“I thought the English roasted a goose for Christmas.”

“Some do, but many people prefer turkey. What else is on the menu?”

“Maman was surprised when she started looking for recipes, but many traditional Thanksgiving foods are available here. Squash, potatoes, sweet potatoes. Pumpkin for a pie. The turkey was the only thing that she had to order specially. She went a little crazy on the size, so there will be plenty to eat. So please come.”

“Are you sure you want extra people there?” asked Richard with a smirk. “You might actually like this guy. You never said, doctor, lawyer…”

“Doctor.”

“Your mother won’t like you adding extra people as a diversion,” said Dwayne.

Before Camille could answer, her mobile rang. She picked it up and groaned.

“Hello, Maman.”

Pause

“Yes, I did.”

Pause

“I don’t know, he hasn’t had time to ask her yet.”

Pause

“I WILL be nice to him.” Camille saw Richard’s smirk and gave him a _don’t say anything_ glare.

Pause

“No, we won’t talk about murders. But, Maman, he IS a doctor, so he wouldn’t be squeamish.”

Long pause

“Do I have to?”

Pause

“All right, I will. Call her and tell her I’m coming. Bye, Maman.” Camille ended the call. Then she turned to Richard and asked, “May I take off for a little while? I have an errand to run for the big dinner.”

“Yes, that’s fine, but keep your mobile on.”

-o-o-o-o-

On Wednesday evening, Richard had just settled in with a good book when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

_“Richard! I need your help!”_

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

_“No, nothing like that. Please, please tell me you have digestive biscuits.”_

“I know we call them that, but if you have indigestion, they don’t—”

_“No! I need them for a cracker crust.”_

“A what?”

_“Cracker crust. For a pie.”_

“You’re making a pie?”

_“Yes, it’s my penance for diluting the blind date with my colleagues. Richard, I don’t have time to talk. Do you have any digestive biscuits?”_

“Yes, I just got some.”

_“Please, can you bring them over?”_

“Now?”

_“Well, next week won’t be any help, will it?”_

Richard smiled. If she were standing in front of him, she’d do that snap-point thing and send him scurrying to his kitchen.

“Can you come get them?”

_“No, I’ve got the pumpkin simmering, and I don’t want to leave it.”_

“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When Richard rang the doorbell, Camille called out, “Richard? Come around to the kitchen door, it’s open.”

He did as he was told, and was rewarded with the sight of Camille wearing an oversized man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He wasn’t sure if she was wearing anything underneath it, but best not to think about that. When he walked in, she turned to greet him. He smiled when he saw the flour on her cheek. 

“You saved me!” she cried. She held out her sticky hands and said, “I’d hug you but I’d get you covered with flour.”

“You’ve already covered yourself,” Richard reached out, and without thinking, brushed the flour off her face. He brushed a bit more off her sleeve. “Nice cooking outfit. Souvenir of a past boyfriend?”

“No. I bought it for cooking because I splash and spill a lot.”

“So I see. Are you making bread? You’re really going all-out to impress the doctor.”

“That isn’t it,” Camille resumed kneading the dough. “Maman asked me to. She wants everything fresh. According to her, women cook like demons for a Thanksgiving dinner, and it all has to be homemade.”

“Given the amount of prepared food available in American supermarkets, I rather doubt everything is homemade.”

“Well it was how I made peace with Maman.” She kneaded the dough a few more times and said, “Okay, that’s ready. Hand me that bowl on the table, please.”

Richard did as he was instructed. Camille plopped the dough into the bowl, covered it, and placed it in the refrigerator.

“Um, aren’t you supposed to put it someplace warm?” Richard asked.

“It can rise slowly overnight in the fridge. I can shape it in the morning and do another cold rise, but I will need to leave work early to get it in the oven. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Anything to impress the doctor,” Richard smirked.

“I’m not!” Camille glared at Richard. Why did he think it was the _doctor_ who was supposed to be impressed?

-o-o-o-o-

On Thursday afternoon, Richard, Dwayne, and Fidel left work promptly and headed toward La Kaz. Richard had offered to help Camille carry the pies, but she told him they were already in the fridge at the bar. Only the bread needed her attention. 

Catherine had set up a table at the back, where it would be relatively quiet. Easier than the patio, she said, because of the amount of food to be carried. Cold veggies and seafood were already waiting to be nibbled on. Richard noticed that the seafood all had heads and eyes. Sometimes Catherine would cut the heads off for him. Obviously, _he_ was not the one to be catered to this evening.

Camille arrived next. The bread was placed in a warming oven, although Richard commented that it seemed hardly necessary, given the climate. Camille silenced him with a look. Catherine was already frustrated that her “little” Thanksgiving dinner had grown to a crowd. This was not a night to stir up trouble.

Dr. Monaghan arrived a few minutes late, apologizing and explaining that there’d been a last-minute emergency.

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” said Catherine. “We’ve only just started.”

Catherine made the introductions and went to get a drink for the doctor. As she left the group, she nudged Camille.

“Maman says you haven’t been here long, Doctor Monaghan,” she said. “How are you settling in?”

“Please, call me Rob. It’s been an adjustment. I mean, the scenery and the ocean are awesome. But, my God, the heat!”

Richard laughed, “I know! I swear, you could fry an egg on the hood of the Defender some days. And don’t forget the humidity.”

“I know! You sweat, and it doesn’t help because it can’t evaporate.”

“It makes it worse, actually,” said Richard, “Because then you feel all sticky.”

“Yes, but… I have to ask, Inspector—”

“Richard.”

“Richard. I have to ask. Why are you wearing a suit and tie? You’ll give yourself heatstroke!”

“Well, I…”

“You aren’t on duty. For pete’s sake, take off the jacket and tie. Doctor’s orders. You’re going to give me heatstroke, just looking at you!”

Camille’s jaw dropped when Richard did as Rob asked. She could never get Richard to lose the tie.

Catherine arrived with Rob’s beer, and he handed her a small gift bag.

“You didn’t have to bring anything!”

“It’s actually from my mother. I told Mom about the Thanksgiving dinner and she said you might not have this. She makes her own, usually. My family comes from south of Boston, and there are cranberry bogs nearby. But she didn’t think she could ship homemade, so she sent this.”

Catherine pulled a can from the bag and said, “You’re right, I couldn’t get cranberries. What do I do with this?”

“Just chill it and plop it on a plate or a bowl.”

“Just as it is, right from the can?”

“You can slice it, or just put a spoon with it and let people dig at it. I won’t be offended if nobody else likes it. But Mom sent it because she knows how much I like it, and it was the only bit of Thanksgiving she could send through the mail.”

“Well, if it’s your tradition, of course we’ll try it,” Catherine smiled. As she headed to the kitchen, she nudged Camille again. Richard fought the desire to roll his eyes. Catherine was really trying to be the perfect mother-in-law-to-be.

Juliet arrived with Rosie, and Fidel introduced them to Rob, who immediately bent down and began a conversation with the toddler. 

“Are you a pediatrician?” Richard asked.

“No, I’m just used to being around kids. I come from a big family. Irish Catholic, you know? So I have five sibs, and three of them have kids already.”

Richard looked at Catherine, who was nudging Camille again. Ding ding ding! We have a winner! A doctor who loves kids, and Catholic into the bargain. Richard smirked at Camille. She smiled at him and rolled her eyes.

When the three women went to the kitchen to handle final preparations for the meal, Fidel asked Rob what caused him to take a year’s contract on Saint Marie.

“It was my girlfriend’s idea. She said she always wanted to live in a tropical paradise. I looked around for short-term appointments and found this. She was here two weeks and she went home.”

“When is she coming back?” asked Fidel.

“She isn’t. Life here is too primitive. Not enough places to go shopping.”

“She left you because she didn’t like the stores?” Richard was incredulous. 

“Yeah. Who knew she was so shallow?”

“But you can shop online for anything these days.”

“I hear ya, Richard. I do. But Allison says it isn’t the same. She loves to try on clothes and shoes. She can spend all day looking for the perfect dress.”

“I dated a woman like that,” said Richard. “We were going to some dinner, not a big deal, just dinner with a group of people we’d known for ages. She agonized over what to wear, and when I said why not wear what she’d worn when we’d gone to dinner the previous week, she blew up and stormed out, telling me I’d never understand her. She was right about that part.”

“What happened after that?” Fidel asked, thankful that Juliet didn’t have tantrums over dresses.

“Nothing,” said Richard with a shrug. “We were done. Well, _she_ was done with _me._ ”

“It sucks to be dumped, doesn’t it?” said Rob. “Man, I’ve got a knack for picking girls with a short fuse and stupid ideas. I mean, no offense to Saint Marie, but I’m here in the sweltering heat because of a woman who couldn’t stay for more than two weeks without going to Saks.”

Richard nodded, still trying to accept that a young, good-looking doctor couldn’t hang onto a woman. He could see that Rob was still stung from Allison’s departure and wasn’t ready for a new girlfriend. Catherine was likely to be disappointed. Richard didn’t know why he found this comforting, but he did.

“Now, you see,” said Dwayne, “That’s why I don’t let it get serious.”

“You mean you dump them before they dump you,” said Richard. “I wish I could figure out that kind of timing. I’ve never seen a breakup coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve been blindsided, too,” said Rob. “I remember in high school, right after prom…”

From the kitchen, Camille listened to the men discuss breakups. Richard and Rob were really bonding. Rob managed to make his breakup story funny, and the men all laughed. This conversation was surprising. She thought men talked mostly about cars and sports when they were amongst themselves. 

When the food was brought out, Catherine asked Rob to sit at the head of the table, as he was their guest. She pushed Camille in the direction of Rob, and took the foot of the table as her seat. It was also the seat closest to the kitchen, the “fetching seat,” so she could run to the kitchen or bar and fetch anything that was needed.

Richard took the seat next to Camille. Dwayne sat next to Richard, and the Best family sat across from them. Before food was passed, Catherine asked Rob if he had any family tradition, or wanted to say grace. 

“We do say grace. It’s probably the only moment in the day when everyone in the family is silent.” So Rob said grace, and then they began to pass the food around. He complimented all of the food. “This is awesome! I can’t believe you’ve made all the usual things. The sweet potatoes are different, though. Mom makes candied sweets. These spiced sweets are great. Could I ask for the recipe?”

“Juliet made them,” said Fidel proudly. 

“Fidel, you lucky dog!” Said Rob. “She’s beautiful and she can cook like this! Juliet, may I beg for the recipe for my mother?”

“You don’t need to beg, I’ll be happy to give it to you. It’s my mother’s recipe. I don’t know where she found it.”

“Would you like another beer, Rob?” Catherine asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Does anyone else need anything? Camille, would you top up the wine glasses, please.” 

Catherine returned from the bar with fresh beers. Rob took a drink of his and said, “Hey Richard, you’re from the other side of the pond, as they say. But you’re drinking cold beer. I thought the English all drank beer warm.”

“Not warm. Cellar temperature, which is cool, not cold. I’d never have a cold lager back home. I prefer ales and stouts. But in this heat, the cold beer is a blessing.”

“I guess. I’m not a lager man, myself. Another thing we’ve got close to home is the Boston Brewery, home of Sam Adams.”

“A relative of John Adams?” asked Richard.

“A cousin. And he was a brewer, so the brewery in Boston named its beer after him. And, uh, sorry to bring this up, Richard. But Sam was a hell of a patriot.”

“I’m afraid that depends on which side of the pond you come from,” said Richard, lifting his beer in a toast. “But to pay you back for that remark, I should tell you that some of my countrymen celebrate Thanksgiving in July.” 

“July?” Rob was puzzled for a moment. Then he laughed and raised his beer in salute. “Good one! Again, depends on the side of the pond, doesn’t it?”

When it was time to clear the table, the women rose and started collecting dishes. 

“I can help,” Richard offered, as Camille reached for his plate.

“No, we’re being very traditional today,” she smiled and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Just don’t get used to being waited on like this.”

Richard watched her walk away, amazed that such a casual contact could affect him so much. Rob watched Richard watch Camille. Rob wasn’t stupid. He’d noticed Catherine nudge her daughter. But he wasn’t in the market for a rebound romance—especially with a woman who wasn’t interested in him. His suspicions were reinforced when dessert appeared.

Catherine and Camille set the pies on the table. Catherine smiled proudly and announced that Camille had made the pies. 

“And the bread, too,” said Richard. Addressing Camille he said, “It was very good. Sorry, I meant to say that earlier.”

“Thanks.”

“Camille is a good baker,” said Catherine.

“If a bit chaotic,” said Richard.

“I don’t usually make bread and pies at the same time,” said Camille. “You arrived at the worst moment.”

“Chief, you helped Camille bake?” Dwayne was surprised.

“No. I was just the cavalry, arriving with digestive biscuits in the nick of time. She was covered in flour.”

“I was not!”

“It was all over, even on your face.” Richard swiped at her cheek to show where the flour had been. 

“I was in the middle of kneading bread. Flour gets all over, I can’t help it. But you were helpful. You crushed the biscuits for the pie crusts. I still had to mash the pumpkin, so it was a big help for you to crush the biscuits and grate the limes.”

“You put lime in pumpkin pie?” Rob looked worried, imagining that the perfect ending to the meal might turn out to be strange.

“Oh, no. Camille made two pies,” Catherine tried to steer the conversation back to Camille’s talents. “The pumpkin is for tradition, but she also made lime meringue.”

“You made the pie from fresh pumpkin?” asked Rob.

“Yes,” Camille replied. “We grow lots of pumpkins and other kinds of squash here.”

“But from scratch? Wow, my mother doesn’t even to that. She buys canned pumpkin, already mashed.”

“My mum doesn’t even do that. She buys a frozen pie and just heats it,” said Richard.

“So does mine sometimes, but never for Thanksgiving,” Rob replied. “One year, she bought a pumpkin cheesecake. It was good, but she hadn’t made it herself, and we nearly had another revolution in Massachussets!”

“I think you mean insurrection,” said Richard.

“No, it’s called a revolution. Another side of the pond thing, I guess.”

Richard sighed, “I know. At least we share a common language. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I hear from Camille. A man drowned in the English Channel, and she kept calling it—”

“La Manche” Camille cut in.

“See what I mean?”

“It’s the English Channel. It says so on all the maps,” said Rob.

“Maps in EEENGLEESH, maybe!” Camille glared at Richard. 

“Hey, don’t just yell at me,” said Richard. “What about Rob? He agreed with me.”

“He’s the guest of honor, so I have to be nice to him.”

“I’m your boss, you could try being nice to me.”

“You’re not my boss now. We’re not at work.”

“Then I’m a guest, and you should be nice to me.”

“But … you … aarrgh! You’re so Eeeengleeesh!” Camille sat back in her chair and huffed. 

Dwayne almost choked on his mouthful of pie. Fidel grinned.

Rob looked at the two men, trying to understand their reactions to the conversation.

“Welcome to our world, Rob,” said Dwayne, lifting his beer for a toast. “And happy Thanksgiving!”

As they were leaving, Rob said, “You know, one thing we do at home—and I know it sounds corny—is to go around the table and say what we’re thankful for. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to do that. But I just want to say that I’m thankful to have made so many new friends.”

“We’re glad to meet you, too,” said Fidel. "This is where we hang out after work, so if you drop by for a beer, we’ll probably see you again.”

“That would be great! Catherine, thank you so much for arranging this dinner. Truly incredible! I can’t wait to call Mom and Dad and tell them how you rescued the day for me. Richard, thank you for being a kindred spirit. Sometimes I think I’m the only one who thinks it’s hot here. And I’m going to take you up on that offer to borrow the Roast Beef some day soon.”

“Just let me know and I’ll leave the oars out for you. Good night.”

Rob waved as he walked to his car. The others waved back. 

“Well, I’ll be going. Thank you for dinner, Catherine.” Richard picked up his jacket and tie.

“Don’t you dare put them on again!” Camille hissed.

“Oh, okay.”

“Wait!”

“What? I said I wasn’t going to put them on again.”

“No, wait for your leftovers. Maman packed some for you when she packed Rob’s.”

“Here you are!” Catherine held out two small shopping bags. She handed one to Richard and one to Camille. 

“Thank you, Maman.” Camille kissed her mother. “Sorry it didn’t work.”

“Thanks, Catherine.” Richard followed Camille out to the street.

“I’m going to get an earful tomorrow, thanks to you,” Camille laughed.

“What did I do now?”

“You stole my date! Rob talked to you more than he did to me.”

“Can I help it if two non-natives found a lot of common ground? And don’t think I stole him from you. I may be rubbish at understanding women, but I do understand men, especially a fellow dumpee. Rob’s head knows that Allison is gone, but his heart is still hurting. You don’t want just a rebound thing, do you? You deserve something better.” 

“Like what?”

“Someone like Rob, young, bright, professional, good career ahead of him. Good-looking, outgoing. But someone who is emotionally available. And I guess also someone who loves the beach and the sun and the heat.”

“What if I want someone very different from that?” They had reached the bottom of Camille’s street. They paused for a moment, before turning to go their separate ways.

Down the street, Catherine stood at the doorway to La Kaz. She watched Richard and Camille walk away. They started out laughing, but before they parted, they seemed to be very serious. Catherine sighed. She was beginning to see why all those blind dates went nowhere.


	4. Bah, Humbug!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple more ideas for Christmas, and if I don't get too buried in baking cookies, I'll try to post them in the next two weeks.  
> I liked Doctor Rob so much that I brought him back.

Richard Poole was beginning to feel like Ebenezer Scrooge. It wasn’t that he disliked Christmas. He did like it. But it was difficult to feel any Christmas spirit when it was blazingly hot or pouring down rain. Richard grew up believing that there were four seasons. Winter, spring, summer, fall; one followed the other in a natural progression. But the only seasonal variation in the tropics seemed to be rain. Sometimes they got a little, sometimes they got a lot. They were getting out of the rainiest months now. But there wouldn’t be snow. They didn’t often get snow for Christmas back home in England, but at least there would be a nip in the air, maybe a touch of frost some mornings.

Many of his childhood memories of Christmas were about being cold. Christmas was going out on a cold day and standing around while Mum looked at every Christmas tree on the lot before making a decision. Christmas was Dad draping Christmas lights on the shrubs in front of the house while Mum fussed about there being two yellow bulbs next to each other and Richard stood on the pavement, calling out “A little higher” or “A little lower” as his father tried to get the strands of lights level. And then there was the warm memory of hot chocolate being used as antifreeze to thaw him out while his mother baked gingersnaps and doused the fruitcake with more brandy.

His university memories of Christmas were hazy. He recalled an odd mixture of studying, exams, and parties with a wide spectrum of drinks, including overly spiked eggnog. All these years later, and he still couldn’t bear the thought of eggnog. 

His London memories of Christmas were of bright lights. Some years Regent Street was positively garish. And recently, ice rinks popped up in the oddest places. Covent Garden, Somerset House, the Natural History Museum. At least Saint Marie wouldn’t do that, and he’d be spared the humiliation of displaying his lack of coordination on skates. 

And now Saint Marie was getting into the Christmas spirit. The town of Honoré strung Christmas lights across the main road. Lights wound around lamp posts and palm trees. Many of the bars, including Catherine’s, used fairy lights as decorations all year round, and it became difficult to distinguish between everyday lights and Christmas lights. 

And so he and Camille were arguing—again—over decorating the station.

“No! This is a police station, not a bar or a souvenir shop. We do not string lights or hang tinsel garland.”

“But it’s Christmas!”

“It’s still a police station.”

Camille held out a box and said, “But these icicle lights are so cool!”

“That is utterly ridiculous. WHY would anyone want icicle lights in a place that can melt ice instantaneously?”

“They aren’t real icicles, obviously!”

“Of course not. That’s my point.”

“What is your point? That you’re a scrooge?”

“No, that it’s silly to simulate something that would never be here to begin with.”

“That’s the whole point of hanging the lights, to simulate something we wouldn’t normally have.”

“That makes no sense. There is no cultural reference for icicles here.”

“You’re no fun!”

“Well, _there’s_ something you’ve never said before!”

“You don’t need to be sarcastic, Richard!”

“We are not decorating the police station, and that is final. Hang your icicle lights on your house, or at your mother’s bar. Or give them to Fidel. I’m sure Rosie will find them entertaining. But. Not. Here.”

-o-o-o-o-

Despite Richard’s protest that he might go blind from all the lights, or have a seizure brought on by the blinking/twinkling, the team went to La Kaz for a drink to celebrate solving their latest case. Catherine’s usual Caribbean mix had been replaced by Christmas music. Richard suspected that Camille had requested this as yet another way to annoy him.

Rob Monaghan stopped by for a drink and was pleased to see his new friends.

“Hi, good to see you all,” he said. “I’m buying!”

“What are we celebrating?” asked Fidel.

“I delivered a baby today. What an awesome feeling that is! The woman barely made it to the ER, so there was no time to get her up to maternity. She nearly delivered in the waiting room. It’s such a kick to see a brand new tiny person and the parents all excited. As an ER doctor, I usually just see them, say hello, and send them up to an obstetrician. It’s rare that I get to be there for the birth.”

“Congratulations! You may buy their drinks, but I’m buying yours. Babies are wonderful!” Catherine kissed Rob’s cheek and gave Camille a significant look. Camille sighed.

As Catherine bustled over to the bar, Rob looked at Camille, “What was all that?”

“Maman wants to be a grandmother.”

“But you aren’t married, and I didn’t see a boyfriend at Thanksgiving. In fact, I kind of thought…”

“Yup. You were the latest offering.” Camille sighed again.

“I’m sorry Camille, but I’m not ready for some rebound relationship.”

“It’s okay, that’s what Richard said.”

“You’re on the rebound, too?” Rob looked at Richard inquisitively.

“No, I explained that I thought you were still feeling stung and probably not ready.”

“Ah,” Rob nodded. It was true, but he wondered if Richard would have said it in any case to steer Camille away.

“Don’t let Maman embarrass you,” Camille said. “She has tried before with blind dates.”

Catherine arrived with the drinks and they toasted, “To Doctor Rob!” Catherine toasted “To babies!” Camille smiled at Rob with an _I told you so_ expression.

“Would anyone be offended if I put on my shades?” asked Rob after Catherine returned to the bar. “It’s, like, blinding in here.”

“I know!” Richard nodded. “And I hope nobody here is prone to seizures, because blinking lights can set them off.”

“Oh, please!” said Camille.

“It’s true,” Rob came to Richard’s defense. “These are probably too small to have an effect, and the randomness also makes it unlikely. But exposure to certain light patterns does affect some people. Headaches in some, seizures in some cases. Ever read the warning on the box for a video game? The seizure caution is on there.”

Richard smirked at Camille, who scowled back. Dwayne caught Rob’ eye and grinned. Rob nodded slightly and grinned back. He was learning the cadence of the relationship unfolding in front of him, and found it fascinating. Time to toss another log onto the fire.

“Hey, Richard. Does it seem strange to you, or am I the only one having trouble processing the combination of Christmas decorations and hot weather?”

“Very strange, especially the icicle lights. _Someone_ wanted to hang them at the station.”

“ _Someone_ is a Grinch!” Camille huffed. “He made me give them to Fidel.”

“If it makes you feel better, Camille, I’m sure Rosie will be excited to have them,” Fidel said. “Hey, Dwayne, will you help me put them up? For a beer or two?”

“Sure. For that little cutie, I’d even do it for nothing.” Dwayne laughed and added, “But I’ll take the beer.”

Catherine returned to the table to see if anyone needed another drink. While she was there, she asked Rob if he would like to join them for Christmas dinner, since he was all alone.

“Thanks, Catherine, but I’m taking a long shift on Christmas Day. Let the people with kids and families have the day off. I don’t mind working.”

“Richard is doing the same thing for the same reason,” said Camille, suddenly less annoyed with her boss. “But we’re going to have supper here Christmas Eve—the same group as Thanksgiving, maybe a few other people. So you should join us. We’ll have a late supper and then go to Midnight Mass.”

“I’ll let you know if I can make it.”

After Rob left, the team finished their drinks. Camille rummaged through a box of decorations Catherine had found. She found a Santa hat and reached to put it on Richard, but his glare caused her to change her mind and put it on her own head instead. 

“While we’re on the subject of Christmas—” Richard began.

“What now?” Camille growled. “No saying Merry Christmas or playing Christmas music? No mistletoe?”

“Of course you may say Merry Christmas. And I suppose music—if it’s not too loud—is okay.”

“And mistletoe?”

“No! We work at a police station, Camille. The last thing we need is to haul in a suspect and have to stop in the doorway so you can kiss him.”

“We wouldn’t have to hang it in the front doorway. Just, I don’t know, _somewhere._ To be festive.” Camille was envisioning a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the vicinity of Richard’s desk, and missed some of what he was saying.

“… we are not Druids, and anyway it doesn’t grow here.”

“I think there is a tropical species, Chief,” said Fidel. “But most people who put up mistletoe use fake because of the berries. Juliet won’t have the real thing in the house because it’s poisonous.”

“Another reason not to put up mistletoe!” Richard looked pointedly at Camille. “Health and safety in the workplace.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Richard! None of us would eat the berries.”

“No mistletoe at the station. Why don’t you deck your doorway with it and have your mother send over all those would-be suitors to kiss you?” After he made the snarky comment, Richard felt a moment’s fear that she might actually do that.

Camille huffed. Stupid man! She didn’t want some random stranger to kiss her! “Anything else that’s banned, Inspector Grinch?”

“Not a ban, but a suggestion. What I was trying to bring up earlier was the subject of gifts. I don’t know if you give gifts at Christmas—”

“Of course we do!” said Camille. “We celebrate Christmas here. You have strange ideas about us, Richard.”

“I know people on Saint Marie give gifts, and Santa brings gifts for the kids. I meant the team. I don’t know if you generally exchange presents, but I was going to suggest that we not do that.” Before Camille could make another comment, Richard continued, “I thought we might do a donation to a charity instead of buying each other gifts.”

“That’s a nice idea, Chief,” said Fidel. “What charity do you have in mind?”

“You would know more about local charities than I do. The Marine Reserve comes to mind. Or some children’s charity? Think about where you’d like to send the money, and we can make a choice later.”

“I found it!” Catherine emerged from the storage closet holding a sprig of fake mistletoe. She looked around and said, “Oh, Rob left already.”

“Where are you going to hang it, Maman?”

“Oh, I don’t know. By the bar, I suppose.”

Camille got up and took the little branch of fake greenery from her mother. She wandered around the bar area, trying to select a good location. Suddenly, she leaned over the bar to turn up the music. Eartha Kitt’s voice purred from the speakers. Camille sang along as she climbed on a chair to hang the mistletoe.

Without thinking about the consequences, Richard rose and walked to Camille and said, “Be careful! You’re going to fall.”

He steadied her while she finished tying the bow. She managed to hop down without dislodging his hands at her waist. Suddenly, it dawned on Richard where they were and what they were standing under. He turned scarlet. Camille, for all her bold talk, suddenly turned shy and just gave Richard a quick peck on the cheek.

-o-o-o-o-

That night, Richard dreamed of a long-forgotten excursion from his university days. They’d gone to collect mistletoe at a local orchard, but spent more time enjoying it _in situ_ than collecting it to take back to school. As dreams are wont to do, this one included people who hadn’t been there, and left out others who had. His then-girlfriend was replaced by Camille. She walked through the orchard, the only person in the scene not dressed for the weather—it was December in England in the dream. She wore a short “Mrs Claus” outfit and had that Santa hat on her head. As she beckoned him away from the group to a secluded hedge, she sang:

> “Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree for me.  
>  Been an awfully good girl, Santa baby,  
>  So hurry down the chimney tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Santa Baby” is my favorite non-carol Christmas song. If you don’t know it, do a search, but look for the original Eartha Kitt version. Madonna’s icky-cutesy version is a pathetic imitation.


	5. Here We Come a Wassailing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got so long that I had to split it, so there will be another Christmas story. And yes, by popular demand, I've brought Rob back.

The masquerade parade was noisy, so Richard lurked within the confines of La Kaz. Dwayne, Camille, and Rob Monoghan stood outside the bar, laughing and clapping to the music. Richard had a hard time understanding what masked revelers had to do with Christmas, and Camille had simply said “It’s what we do.”

Richard looked up sharply when the crowd moved back suddenly to avoid a “cow” that charged at them. Apparently trying to run down the onlookers was part of what they did, too. When the trio returned to the table, they were laughing.

“You missed a good parade, Richard,” said Camille.

“Yeah, that was a hoot. They really get into it!” Rob laughed. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” said Catherine, as she brought Rob another beer. Looking at Richard, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you ready for another beer, too?”

“Yes, thank you, Catherine.” Richard smiled, and she left the table. He looked at Rob and shook his head, “Well, YOU are still the flavor of the month around here.”

“Ah, well, I can’t help bein’ so charmin’, now can I?” Rob replied in an exaggerated Irish brogue.

Catherine returned with Richard’s beer, but addressed Rob. “I do hope you will have Christmas Eve supper with us. Camille told me she invited you.”

“I don’t know if I can make it,” he answered. “I’ll be at the hospital kind of late, some of us are going caroling around the hospital in the evening. ”

“Oh! Caroling! That’s so much fun! We should go caroling in Honoré!” Camille exclaimed. “We could do it the weekend before Christmas.”

“I remember doing it in college,” said Rob. “A bunch of my fraternity brothers got together and we went from dorm to dorm, serenading the girls.”

“That sounds like fun,” said Dwayne.

“Yeah, until it got late and we got a little too loud, and security sent us back to our house.”

“What voice part do you sing?” asked Richard.

“I’m what my mother calls a whiskey tenor. Give me enough to drink and I’ll start taking requests.”

“What about you, Richard?” Camille asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Whiskey tenor or sober baritone?”

“Oh,” he shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Nonsense! You have perfect pitch. I’ll bet you know your range down to the exact notes.”

“Okay, if you must know, baritone. But I’m not—”

“Yes you are! How would it look if the whole team is there, minus the leader? You’re singing. Now, we’ve got tenor, several baritones, and I’m alto. We need a soprano. Fidel, Juliet’s voice is pretty high. Is she a soprano?”

“I guess so.”

“Wait a minute, Camille,” Richard said.

“Don’t argue, Richard, you are singing.”

“Slow down, Camille. Does anyone have the music? Does anyone know the voice parts other than the melodies? For that matter, does anyone know the words to these carols we’re supposedly going to sing?”

“Easy. We can get all that from the ’net,” Camille said with a shrug. 

“Richard’s right,” Rob chimed in. “Before we jump into this, I think we should consider just singing the melodies. And we probably should have a practice session or two, to find a key we’re all comfortable with.”

-o-o-o-o-

A few days later, they found themselves in the music room at Fidel’s old school. The new headmaster had heard how discrete the Honoré police had been in solving the case involving his predecessor, so he was pleased to give the carolers space for their practices. Fidel had downloaded songsheets from the Internet and made copies for everyone. 

Fidel and Richard went to the school early, to thank the headmaster for his assistance. They were given a spare key to the music room and told to simply lock up when they were done. When they got to the room, they saw that a few Christmas music books had been left out for them. 

Without thinking, Richard sat at the piano and opened one of the books. He chose a song, and began to play. Fidel walked to the door to watch for the others. When Camille and Dwayne arrived. Fidel gestured for them to be quiet. The trio stood in the doorway, watching their boss play. When he finished they applauded.

“Oh!” he said, turning around, “I didn’t hear you come in. I was just, um, you know, making sure the piano is in tune.”

“That was beautiful, Richard! I didn’t know you could play.” Camille said. “ _Cantique de Noël_ is one of my favorite Christmas songs.”

“You mean _Oh Holy Night,_ ” he replied. 

“It’s _Cantique de Noël!_ ” said Camille. “Everyone knows that.”

“Everyone in France, perhaps. But if I’m playing it, it’s _Oh Holy Night_.”

Following the sounds of voices, Rob headed toward the music room. He gestured toward it and said to his companion, “I told you what they’re like. Best entertainment on the island.”

When he entered the classroom, Rob introduced his friend Suzanne to the group. She was a nurse he’d met at the hospital caroling practice.

“I hope it’s okay. I thought we could use another female voice, and she’s a soprano. She’s originally Canadian, but lived in the US for a while and moved here when her parents relocated to Saint Marie for her father’s job.”

“Of course, she’s welcome!” Dwayne said. “Always good to have another pretty lady in the group.”

“Why thank you, Dwayne,” said Juliet as she entered the room.

“Oh, ah, I didn’t, um…” Dwayne looked between Suzanne and Juliet helplessly. Richard was amazed to see the ladykiller so confused. 

“Nice to know that two out of three are pretty,” Camille mumbled.

“Hey now,” Dwayne said as he gave her a brotherly hug, “You’ll always be my girl.”

“Yeah,” said Camille, laughing. “Me and a hundred other women.”

Fidel introduced Juliet to Suzanne, and distributed the songsheets. The group looked at the songs, trying to decide which they’d like to sing.

Dwayne frowned at one of the sheets. “What’s wassailing?”

“It’s an old English tradition of going door to door, singing carols and asking to be rewarded with a drink,” Richard explained. “Wassail is a spiced warm drink served at Christmastime. It’s usually made with red wine, but it can be made with apple cider.”

“I like the idea of singing for drinks!” Dwayne replied.

The group agreed that the Wassailing song would be a good first song at each stop.

Camille suggested that they sing one song in French. “What about _Cantique de Noël!_? Richard can play it.”

“We can’t take a piano caroling.” Richard shook his head. “And it’s _Oh Holy Night_.

“ _Cantique de Noël!_ ,” said Camille. “It was written in France.”

Rob nudged Suzanne, who stifled a giggle when she saw Dwayne roll his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter, we can’t do it. The range is too wide for a lot of people, and it goes up very high.”

“Can’t you get up there, Richard?” Rob asked with a smirk.

“Fine, mister tenor, you can sing a solo while the rest of us drop out.”

“Suzanne can hit it. Juliet probably can, too.”

“Maybe,” Juliet said. “It is pretty high.”

“Most of us can’t hit it so _Oh Holy Night_ is out” said Richard in a voice that brooked no opposition.

“Then let’s do _Il et né, le devin enfant._ It’s easier,” said Camille.

“Oh, oh oh oh!” Rob was excited by something he saw on the songsheet. “This is so perfect. Check out this verse. The Wassail song actually asks for beer. We could start with a verse or two of that, do another English song, the French one, then back to the Wassail song at the end to do the beer verse and hope the bartender takes the hint.”

“Now you’re talking!” laughed Dwayne.

“I think we should get people in the bar to sing along,” said Fidel. “After we do our set of songs, ask them to sing something everyone knows.”

“Suggestions?” asked Richard.

“How about _Jingle Bells_? Everyone knows that.”

“Oooh,” Camille said, “We could do _Jingle Bell Rock_!”

“No pop tunes,” said Richard. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do proper Christmas songs.”

“What about _Silent Night_?” asked Fidel.

“I’d rather not,” said Richard. “It’s a lovely song and people tend to murder it.”

“I know!” Suzanne nodded. “They don’t know what to do with that dotted half note on _sleep_ , and they just slur down the scale there, too.”

“Thank you! I thought I was the only one who was bothered by that.”

“You should have met my elementary music teacher. Miss French made us sing that one exactly right. And if we missed the dot after the half note, she would threaten to grab a pen and make the dot as big as a tennis ball so we’d remember!”

“A lot of people who sing can’t read the music. I always figured it was piano training that made me so fussy about getting it right. Mrs. Hawkins was most particular about not fudging timing.”

Richard and Suzanne began making fun of all the mistakes in timing and phrasing made by pop stars when they recorded Christmas songs. 

“I swear I am not making this up,” Suzanne said, “She breathed in the middle of a word. In the MIDDLE of a word! Doesn’t anyone know about phrasing?”

“Okay,” Richard threw up his hands, “I can’t beat that. What is wrong with some people? If you can’t get through the line without running out of breath, find another song to sing. Lyrics are poetry, they have meaning. Changing the tune is an insult to the composer, and messing about with the lyrics is an insult to the lyricist. Learn the bloody song!”

“Right, your outrage has been noted. Now can we get back to practice?” Camille realized that she sounded cranky. But Suzanne and Richard were getting friendlier than she liked. Richard looked at Camille and raised his eyebrows. She looked down at her songsheets.

Rob decided to get the group back on track. “So, we start with _Wassailing,_ then do _Il et né_ , then one other—which we should vary from stop to stop—then back to _Wassailing._ With luck, a drink break in which we get other patrons to sing. And then we need an exit song. Ideas for exit song?”

“The Merry Christmas one,” said Fidel. He began to sing,

> We wish you a merry Christmas  
>  We wish you a merry Christmas  
>  We wish you a merry Christmas  
>  And a happy new year.

“Perfect!” said Suzanne. “This is going to be so much fun! We won’t get any drinks caroling at the hospital.”

-o-o-o-o-

The group decided to have a second rehearsal more for the social aspect of it, this time at Camille’s house. Since they would have to sing _a cappella,_ they wanted to practice without the piano. 

Camille had decorated her house with a table-top artificial Christmas tree, tinsel garland, lights, and small ornaments, mostly tropical birds. Under the tree, she had a small crèche scene. When Richard arrived, he commented on it.

“Camille, you’re missing the baby Jesus. And why are the Wise Men so far away?”

“That’s the French way of doing things. The baby isn’t put in the crèche until Christmas day. He hasn’t been born yet. And we move the Wise Men up a little bit at a time, because they haven’t arrived yet. They don’t arrive until Epiphany.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“The only problem is the baby Jesus. One year, I forgot where I put Him when I unpacked the crèche set. He missed His birthday. I think I found Him before New Year’s, though.”

Richard turned and spied something unexpected on a bookshelf. It was a snow globe containing Victorian-looking carolers. He picked it up and gently turned it over to make the snow swirl.

Before he could comment, Camille said, “Don’t start up about no cultural reference for snow!”

“I wasn’t going to say that. But I am surprised. The ones I’ve seen in shops are all beach scenes and glitter, not snow.”

“Maman bought it for me when I was little. I didn’t understand why people sing about a white Christmas. I asked if black people couldn’t have Christmas. So Maman told me about snow and showed me pictures, and we watched a movie where it snows. I wanted so much for it to snow here, and she explained that it couldn’t snow because it only snows where it’s cold. Then she bought me the snow globe, so I could watch it snow whenever I wanted. It was the first Christmas after my father left.”

Richard smiled at Camille’s wistful expression. He tilted the globe again and handed it back to her. She held it almost reverently. Then she laughed gently as she said, “Seeing this didn’t prepare me for the real thing, though.”

“I can’t remember the first time I saw snow,” Richard said. “What was it like, seeing snow for the first time as an adult?”

“It was while I was in Paris. I’d become accustomed to the cold, as much as anyone from a warm climate ever can. But snow was amazing! It was pretty, and gentle, and I loved how it stuck to the trees. But more than anything, I loved the quiet. Snow muffles sound, and it’s the one thing about snow nobody had ever told me.”

“I know what you mean about the quiet. I hate how quickly it gets grey and slushy in a city. But when it first falls, it’s beautiful.” 

Camille gave the snow globe another shake. She set it down and they watched the snow settle. Before she could say anything more, Fidel, Juliet, and Dwayne arrived. Juliet thanked Camille for the icicle lights, and said how much Rosie liked them. Their conversation was interrupted by Rob and Suzanne.

“Hi! Sorry we’re a bit late. We did some shopping. We had this, well, I guess you’d call it a brainstorm!” Rob was almost as excited as he had been when celebrating delivering a baby.

“What?” asked Camille. “Did you think of another song to do?”

“Better!” Rob grinned. He reached into a shopping bag and said, “Look!”

“Omigod! That is so cool!” Camille rushed over to Rob.

“I know. There’s one for each of us. I thought it would be fun if we matched.”

Camille looked immediately at Richard, waiting for him to object. But he was utterly and completely gobsmacked, and said nothing.

“We found these at a shop near the hospital. We guessed at the sizes,” said Suzanne. “They’ll make an exchange if something doesn’t fit.”

“Um,” Richard had found his voice. “I really don’t—”

Camille opened her mouth to scold him into agreeing, but Suzanne was quicker. “Of course, you’ll wear one. I know they’re silly. We looked for the silliest ones we could find. But this is supposed to be fun!”

“Santa sitting on a beach?”

“Yes! A tropical Christmas.” Suzanne changed tactics. She held the shirt up to him and said sweetly, “It will look good on you. Give you a chance to be relaxed. Come on, Richard, we’ll all be wearing them, so you won’t want to be the odd man out. Please?”

Suzanne didn’t know it, but she struck a nerve. Richard had been the odd man out most of his life. He noticed that Camille looked a bit annoyed. So, would wearing the shirt annoy her? That didn’t make sense—she spent a lot of time trying to get him to be more casual, and now she didn’t want him to be casual? The shirt was truly hideous, but, hell, if it would irritate Camille, he was in!

“All right. We can’t dress in the usual caroling garb of hats and mittens and scarves, so we might as well go local. But no Santa hats!”

“Ooh, I knew you’d wear it!” Suzanne hugged Richard, who stood there awkwardly. As Rob peeled her off Richard, he noticed Camille’s scowl. Well, a little jealousy wouldn’t hurt Camille. He was surprised to feel a small twinge of it, himself.

They got down to the business of rehearsing. Although they had agreed to carry the song sheets, they found they already knew most of the words by heart. During a beer/wine break, Camille chatted with Suzanne and Juliet.

“I envy you your high voices,” said Camille. “Sopranos always get the melody. A lot of the alto parts are boring. And what it is with nuns and high voices? They always started the hymns too high, and I’d have to drop down an octave for half the songs. My friend Aimee and I would stand together at Mass and sing the alto parts. But people would look at us like we didn’t know the hymns. It was easier in choir, where there was a whole alto section and we were supposed to sing something different than the melody.”

“Second sopranos resent the firsts,” said Juliet. “If music is SSA, the firsts get the melody, and we’re on a harmony, too.”

They looked at Suzanne who shrugged and laughed, “Sorry, girls, we firsts have no complaints. Do you still sing in a choir, Camille?”

“No, that was back in school. I still do remember some of the alto parts, especially the ones I liked. _O Come, All Ye Faithful_ has a pretty harmony.”

“Can you still do it?” asked Juliet? “We could do a girls’ trio.”

“I think so. The good thing is it all starts together and then splits off.” Camille hummed to herself a bit and then hummed a starting note. The two sopranos sang melody, and Camille sang the harmony. The men stopped talking and listened. Camille grinned at Richard’s look of surprise. When they finished, they were rewarded with a round of applause.

“You are _so_ doing that when we go caroling!” Rob said. “Your voices blend beautifully.”

“Then we need a song of our own, too,” Dwayne announced. “Something manly.”

“What is a manly Christmas carol?” asked Fidel.

“Something hearty,” Richard replied. “How about _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_? It’s easy to sing. We should stick to the melody because of the imbalance in our numbers. They found the song on the sheet and sang the first verse. This time the ladies applauded.

“This is turning into a concert!” said Suzanne. 

“Yeah,” said Dwayne. “We better hope those bartenders get the hint, because we’ll need to keep our throats from drying out.”

After they finished practice, the group decided to move on to La Kaz for one last drink. Richard begged off, saying he was tired. Camille said she’d join them after she tidied up glasses and snacks. 

Richard hung back after the group left.

“Are you sure you won’t join us for a drink? Is something wrong?” asked Camille.

“No. I really am tired. But I was wondering… you seemed a little annoyed when I agreed to wear the shirt. I thought you’d be pleased.”

“I am pleased! I just… I don’t know.” Camille shrugged. She almost said _I wanted you to wear it for ME, not Suzanne._ but that sounded petty.

Richard picked up his shirt and shook his head. “It really is hideous.”

“I know, I know. No cultural reference for Santa on a beach.”

“Well, not for me. But Santa does visit children all over the world, so I guess Santa under a palm tree isn’t completely crazy.” He turned to leave, but paused and added, “You know, I heard some of what you were saying earlier. About voice parts. Don’t resent the sopranos. Your voice is lovely. There’s a richness to the lower register that a soprano doesn’t have. And that particular harmony suits your voice perfectly. I’m glad you remembered it.”

As Richard walked down the street, Camille could just barely hear him humming. It sounded like _O Come, All Ye Faithful._


	6. Joy to the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn’t intended these stories to be in sequence, other than appearing in the sequence of various holidays. But now they do seem to have become a progression. This follows the previous two Christmas stories.

The caroling expedition started with a short set at La Kaz, where they were known to many of the regulars. Everyone happily joined in on Jingle Bells. One member of the audience asked if they took requests. Rob said they might do that when they returned.

They sang their exit song and waved as they walked out to the street.

“That went well!” said Juliet. 

“Next stop is Marcel’s Restaurant. I think he should get the girls’ trio. That’s a bit more refined for a nice restaurant,” said Fidel. “Are you three ready?”

“Absolutely!”

“Of course!”

“Fidel, haven’t you heard me practicing all week?”

They entered with the Wassailing song. Marcel was delighted to see them and turned off the restaurant’s background music to avoid distractions. The group sang _Il et ne_ , then the trio did _O Come, All ye Faithful_. The applause had barely died down when a man approached them with several bills in his hand. 

“Are you collecting for charity?” he asked. Seeing the surprised look on the singers’ faces, he added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. But back home, the kids from the high school go around caroling to raise money for charities or school activities.”

“We hadn’t thought to,” said Richard. “But several of us are from the local police station, and we decided to do a charitable contribution in lieu of personal gifts. So if you wanted to do something to thank us, a donation to Saint Jerome’s Orphanage would be a lovely gesture.”

“Good idea, Inspector,” Marcel stepped up. “I’ll take up a collection and have someone deliver it to… the station?”

“We’re finishing up at La Kaz,” said Camille. “Just sent someone over there and Maman will hold the money for us. Thanks, Marcel.”

Rob quietly said “ _God Rest Ye_? to the men, and they sang that while Marcel went from table to table. Some patrons joined in singing, so the group led everyone in _Deck the Halls._ They didn’t even have to sing the last verse of the Wassailing song, because Marcel walked up to them with glasses of beer and wine, and an envelope. 

“Here’s what we got now. I’ll put a glass on the bar for further donations and send it over to La Kaz later. Where are you going next?” Marcel asked Richard.

“The Three Monkeys.”

“Ah, good. I’ll send a dishwasher down to talk to one of their kitchen workers. Tell them what happened here. I bet the regular Monkey crowd will want to beat our donation.” And with a wink, Marcel was off to find his best gossip monger.

When they arrived, the bartender at The Three Monkeys was ready for them. He greeted the carolers warmly, and patrons applauded enthusiastically. Once again, they didn’t need the last verse of the Wassailing song. The bartender handed around drinks and told the patrons that the carolers were collecting donations for a local orphanage. So while people sang carols, they dug in their pockets for donations. 

The carolers had similar experiences at the Spinnaker and at Wharf’s End. Richard was amazed at the thickness of the envelopes. Even if the bills were only fives, there were lots of them. Father Martinez at the orphanage would be pleased. After Wharf’s End, the group decided to sing their way back to La Kaz. By the time they reached their destination, they had quite a following. 

They sang their way into the bar, and Catherine had drinks ready for them. She had made what she called Caribbean Wassail, spiced wine with orange juice, but served cold because of the climate. Richard thought it closely resembled sangria, but appreciated the cold temperature. Catherine was immediately busy filling orders for people who had followed the carolers into La Kaz. Camille ducked behind the bar to help her mother, so the four men decided to sing _God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_ until their group was complete. 

The man who had wanted a request was still there. When he heard about the donations for orphans, he stood up and said he would conduct an auction. The winning bidder could request the carol of his or her choice, subject to the group knowing it. He asked bidders to call out their bids and the name of the song.

“Twenty for Jingle Bell Rock!” (Camille shot Richard a triumphant look)

“Thirty for Oh Holy Night!” (Richard smirked back at her)

“Fifty for First Noel!”

“Sixty for Jingle Bell Rock!”

“Seventy for First Noel!”

“Seventy five for All I Want for Christmas is You!”

“One hundred twelve for the Twelve Days of Christmas! (Richard groaned inwardly. He could never keep track of nine, ten, and eleven. As people bid, Fidel kept flipping through the set of song sheets he’d remembered to bring along, hoping they’d have the words for the winning song.)

“One twenty for Jingle Bell Rock!”

Things got quiet, and Richard thought he was going to have to sing a pop song, when one lone voice called out, “Two Hundred for Joy to the World.”

When it was clear that nobody was going to place another bid, Rob said, “Sold! You do mean the Christmas carol and not Jeremiah was a bullfrog, right?”

Laughing, a large man with a white beard came forward with the money and said, “The carol, of course. And yes, I know, I look like Santa.”

The group crowded around Fidel’s song sheet. Suzanne was next to Richard, until Camille left the bar and squeezed her way into the group. In order to get close to the song sheet (and for other motives she chose not to analyze), she put her arm around Richard’s waist. When they got to the last verse, Rob called out each line in advance so that patrons in the bar could sing along. By the time they sang the last “wonders of His love,” it was so loud that people in Guadeloupe could probably hear them. Lost in the joy of singing, and blinded by Catherine’s blinking and twinkling lights, they didn’t notice a few camera flashes going off.

Richard finished his glass of wassail and declined another drink, saying it had been a long time since he’d been unsure of how many drinks he’d actually had. Camille started to be helpful.

“Let’s see, there was a beer before we left, then at Marcel’s you had—”

“Please don’t enumerate them, Camille. I still have some vague hope that my brain will function tomorrow. And I should take the money to the station for safekeeping. I still can’t believe how much we collected.”

“We should be going, too,” said Rob. I’m on call for tomorrow, so I should have a functioning brain as well. Goodnight!”

Fidel and Juliet left to relieve her mother of babysitting duties. Dwayne finished the beer he’d taken in lieu of his wassail and left in search of a party.

“I’ll walk you to the station,” said Camille to Richard. “You should have a police escort since you’re carrying all that cash.”

“Oh, okay. Wait a minute! _I’m_ a police officer.”

“And I’m your partner, so I’m going to protect you.” Camille ducked behind the bar to retrieve a gift bag she’d stashed there earlier, and they left La Kaz together.

After Richard locked the money in the evidence safe, he put out the lights and locked up. When they were on the porch, Camille handed him the bag.

“What’s this? We aren’t doing Christmas gifts.”

“It’s a thank-you for agreeing to the caroling, and the shirt, and the drinking, and generally making a spectacle of ourselves in the town.”

The bag was heavy. Richard carefully removed the tissue paper and his eyes widened. 

“Camille, I can’t take this. I know how much it means to you.”

“Consider it a loan, then. You participated in a Caribbean Christmas, with our Chanté Nwel. I think you deserve a bit of an old-fashioned white Christmas, even if it is under glass. So take this home, and when you’re missing London, give it a shake and watch the snow.”

“Thank you. I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will.” Camille sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I wish you had let me hang some mistletoe.”

“It wouldn’t be any good by now, anyhow. I’d have plucked all the berries days ago.” He smiled, kissed her lightly on the cheek and whispered, “Google it. Good night.”

Richard walked down the steps and headed home. Camille watched him for a moment, then took the side path up the hill toward her house.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard set the snowglobe on his desk. He took off the silly shirt and draped it on the desk chair. He wondered if the shirt would get to England in time for Christmas. He had already sent gifts home, but this might be a good joke gift. Or perhaps not. His father might not be amused. 

Richard got ready for bed, and found himself humming Christmas carols. He sat on the bed and looked toward the desk. From that angle, with the shirt on the chair, it looked as if there was a man sitting at his desk. The man was wearing the bright shirt, and his shiny bald head contained a scene of Christmas carolers in the snow. It was like Richard. Well, he wasn’t bald—yet, he told himself—but like this strange man, his body was in the Caribbean and his head was in England. And his heart? 

Richard was distracted from that uncomfortable question when Harry dashed onto the desk and stopped abruptly at the sight of the newly arrived object. The lizard climbed onto the snowglobe and peered inside.

“I know, Harry,” Richard sighed. “I’m having trouble making sense of it all, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chanté Nwel is a tradition of singing Christmas carols door to door, in Guadeloupe and other Caribbean islands. Now the carol singing has shifted more to festivals where people join together to sing rather than walking around neighborhoods.
> 
> The mistletoe tradition Richard tells Camille to google is about the limits on kisses. Originally, each time a couple kissed under the mistletoe, the man was supposed to remove a berry. When all the berries had been plucked, the mistletoe no longer granted kisses.
> 
> I know that Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” isn’t a Christmas song, but I wanted to throw in a reference to it. I couldn’t find a way to work in the song, but it has some lines that fit various team members. “You know I love the ladies” would be Dwayne’s verse!


	7. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got way longer than I thought it would, but I couldn't find a place to break it.  
> Merry Christmas!!

“Hey, Chief, look at this!” 

Fidel held up the front page of the newspaper. The headline said “Cops Carol for Cash,” and there was a photograph of the group huddled together over the songsheet, singing at La Kaz. The article explained how the Honoré team and a few friends were celebrating the season by caroling in town, and how they’d collected money to donate to Saint Jerome’s Orphanage. Catherine Bordey, owner of La Kaz, said the group often met there to socialize and had started and ended their night at her bar. The article went on to describe the auction. Presumably, this information also came from Catherine. The reporter must have called the Commissioner for a comment. Patterson was quoted in the article as saying he encouraged his team to take part in local activities and charitable endeavours because it was important that the police force be a part of the community in which they served.

“He makes it sound like it was all HIS idea!” Camille huffed.

“Look on the bright side,” said Richard. “He isn’t displeased that his officers were carousing around the town Saturday night. I mean, we’re supposed to control D&Ds, not _be_ them.”

“We weren’t drunk, Chief,” said Dwayne. “Just enjoying—what did he call it?—the local activities.”

“And beverages,” Fidel added.

“We weren’t disorderly, either,” Dwayne continued. “We stood up straight and sang in tune.”

“AND we sang the right words. AND we didn’t breathe in the middle of a word, or commit any other sins against music. We were stars!” Camille grinned and took a bow.

“Indeed you were.” A deep voice sounded from the doorway. 

Not for the first time, Richard wondered HOW such a big man was able to sneak up on them like that. And WHY was it so often at an inopportune moment?

“Sir!” They stood at attention.

“Good morning, team. You all appear to have recovered from Saturday’s revelry.”

They nodded. 

“Good, good. Have you delivered the money yet?”

“No, sir,” Richard replied. “It’s locked in the evidence safe. Would you prefer to take it over to the orphanage yourself?”

“No, I’m sure Father Martinez would like to thank you in person. I’m glad you still have the donations. If I might, I’d like to add a little something? Some of the Police Board members wanted to contribute, too.” Patterson handed Richard a few cheques.

“Thank you, sir. I will call Father Martinez and ask him when it would be convenient to deliver the money.”

“Good. Tell him hello from me. Oh, I meant to ask, why Saint Jerome’s?”

“Fidel, the orphanage was your suggestion,” said Richard.

“Well, sir, Inspector Poole thought we should donate money instead of buying each other presents. We thought about several charities. The Marine Reserve, various animal charities. We wanted something local, and I thought of the orphans. Christmas is such a big thing for children,” Fidel smiled thinking of how excited Rosie was about Christmas, even if she was too young to fully understand it. “So we wanted to make it better for kids who don’t have families to provide for them.”

“Very good. And next year, if you would, I would like advance notice. I’m sorry I missed hearing you all sing. Perhaps an encore at Catherine’s Christmas Eve gathering? Good day.”

After Patterson left, Richard held out the cheques and said to Camille, “Would you put these in the—wow!”

“What?”

“These cheques double what we collected Saturday night!”

Dwayne let out a low whistle. “No kidding?”

“Double _exactly_. But only we knew the total. Oh, and one other person.” Richard looked at Camille.

“Maman. She counted the money and exchanged small bills for larger ones. She’s always grateful to have change. And she did say that she rounded it up a bit.”

“You didn’t tell me that. I should have realized. It did seem surprising that it wasn’t an odd amount.”

“She didn’t add a lot, forty something. Just to give it nice zeroes at the end. And I guess she told the Commissioner how much we collected.”

“Good morning!” a voice from the doorway interrupted the conversation.

“Hello, Florida,” said Camille. “Can we help you?”

“I brought you all a present.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“After what you did? Of course I have to.” Florida held out one of the cakes she sold at her stall. “Everyone is talking about it, you know. Word gets around, and I wanted to thank you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Dwayne.

“Not too much, now, Dwayne,” Florida waggled a finger at him. “It has lots of rum, so be careful.”

Dwayne laughed, and got up to kiss Florida on the cheek. She playfully swatted his arm. “Now you stop that. You know I’m old enough to be your mother.”

Richard rolled his eyes. The only women Dwayne wouldn’t flirt with were either murder suspects or victims.

“And for you, Inspector,” Florida held out a small gift bag. “It isn’t plum pudding, but it’s the closest thing I know to make.”

Richard took the bag and looked inside. Wrapped in plastic was a small dark cake.”

“It’s fruitcake. I gave it a drink this morning, so let it soak a bit.” Florida winked at him, wished them all merry Christmas, and left.

Curious, Richard lifted the plastic wrap, sniffed, and gasped. “My God, there must be a whole bottle of rum in this! I’ll be tight just from the smell!”

As the day went on, other vendors and locals stopped by to deliver gifts and ask how to contribute to the orphanage fund. After one businessman dropped off a hefty cheque, Richard looked around, amazed.

“This never happened in Croyden,” he said.

“Did you carol in Croyden? Collect money for charity?” Camille asked.

“No. I can’t imagine the detectives there wanting to do that. Amazing how something we did for a lark turned into all this.”

“That’s life in a small town, Richard. Makes you feel a bit like Santa, doesn’t it? In fact, now that we’ve got a reputation for the Christmas spirit, we should decorate the station!”

“No.”

“But we should have a Christmas tree to put these gifts under.”

“We don’t have room for that.”

“Just a little one? On the table over there?” Camille was whining now. Fidel and Dwayne watched their boss. He looked as if he wanted to say _yes,_ but hated to give in after all the times he’d said _no._

“I saw a little tabletop tree in a store the other day,” Dwayne suggested. “It would be kind of nice to give the presents a home.”

“Oh, all right. Dwayne, go get a tree. Camille, let’s take the donations over to Father Martinez.”

“I think Fidel should go with you. He’s the one who suggested the orphanage.”

“Fine. Fidel, with me. Dwayne, a _small_ tree. I’m serious. A SMALL tree. Don’t let Camille talk you into something monstrous. I do not want to return and find Trafalgar Square in here.”

“Right, Chief.”

As soon as Richard left, Camille volunteered to go for the tree, leaving Dwayne in charge. She soon returned with a small tree, as directed. She also had tinsel garland, twinkling lights, and an angel for the top of the tree. 

They set up the tree, then made a disappointing discovery. There was nowhere to plug in the lights without having the cord run across the floor. Camille started searching for extension cords.

“Camille, I don’t think we…” Dwayne started, but she didn’t listen. “CAMILLE!”

“Did you find them?”

“No. Give up on the lights. The Chief won’t let us run cords all over the place. You know what he’s like for rules and safety. He gave in on the tree. Be happy with that.”

“I guess,” she sighed. “I should have bought battery-powered lights.”

“Let it go, Camille. I don’t want to hear the explanation about light pulses and the nervous system again.”

Camille fussed with the garland, made sure the angel was standing up straight, and smiled. Maybe Richard had agreed to the caroling because Rob asked, and it seemed he wore the shirt because Suzanne asked. But he allowed the decorating because SHE had asked. She decided to savor the small victory and told Dwayne she had another errand to run.

When Richard and Fidel returned, Dwayne was alone in the station. Richard looked at the tree, pronounced it acceptable, and asked where Camille was.

“I don’t know, Chief. She had an errand to run. I think she might be returning the lights.”

“What lights?”

Dwayne grinned and said, “The ones that aren’t on the tree.”

“Well done, Dwayne!”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I could have stopped her except that there’s no outlet she could use.”

“Still, good job.” Richard looked again at the tree. “Have more gifts arrived?”

“Yes.”

“Edible?”

“Yes.”

“Good Lord, we’re never going to eat all of that. Would you mind if we gave some of it to Rob for the hospital carolers to enjoy?”

“Good idea, Chief,” said Dwayne, who really didn’t have a sweet tooth. “Don’t want my uniform to get too tight.”

When Camille returned a few minutes later, Richard congratulated her on her restraint. Then he sat at his desk and saw that she had taped tinsel garland to his monitor. So much for restraint, he thought, and glared at her.

“Oh, all right,” she huffed, and removed the garland. She draped it around her neck and returned to her desk. After a while she got up to get some water, and as she passed Dwayne, she draped it around his neck. Later, he put it on Fidel’s head. Then Fidel returned it to Camille’s neck. Nobody had the nerve to try to decorate their boss. 

At the end of the day, Camille drove Richard home. She reminded him to take his fruitcake, draped the bit of tinsel garland on the Defender’s mirror, and drove off.

Richard smiled in spite of himself. Camille’s excitement over Christmas was contagious. And the little tree did brighten the station. How long had it been since he’d bothered to put up a Christmas tree? Maybe next year, he thought. Then he wondered where he’d be next Christmas. 

When Richard entered the kitchen, he saw that his front room was blinking. What was that? He ran up the stairs and saw that he did, in fact, have a Christmas tree. Someone had wound twinkling lights and tinsel garland around the trunk of the tree that grew through his house. He knew who that someone was. This must have been her “errand.” 

He had relented and allowed Camille to put up a tree in the station. And as usual, she’d gone beyond the boundary he’d set. He looked across the room at her snowglobe. No matter what he said or did, she was determined to see that he have a happy Christmas. He had no idea why it mattered to her so much, but he was grateful. He pulled the box of gifts from his parents out of the closet and set the wrapped parcels at the base of the tree. The whole thing looked ridiculous, but he was surprisingly touched by the gesture. He used his phone to take a picture, which he sent to his mother with a brief note.

_Your gifts arrived, and they’re under (next to?) my tree. Miss you! Merry Christmas. Love, Richard_

-o-o-o-o-

On Christmas Eve, Catherine closed La Kaz at 9 PM in order to host a private party. She had done this for several years now, and her friends knew they could drop in and stay just long enough for a quick drink or stay much longer and enjoy a cold supper before going on to Midnight Mass. Camille had explained to Richard that their tradition—yes, the French way—was to go to Mass, then return home for feasting and opening presents.

“In the middle of the night?”

“Yes! It’s Christmas Day as of midnight, you know. So by the time we’re back from church, we may as well stay up and celebrate. And then we sleep until noon and have brunch.”

“I can’t stay up late like that. I’m working Christmas Day.”

“Well then, come to the early party. It’s informal, with people wandering in and out. Maman knows lots of people on Saint Marie, and you might meet someone interesting.” Realizing he’d met Suzanne recently, she quickly clarified the kind of people she had in mind, “You know, like Rob. You two have become friends.”

Camille bullied and cajoled and whined until Richard relented and agreed to stop by for a while. He showed up a bit early, knowing that if he didn’t, Camille would drive out to his house and drag him back to town. Dwayne, Fidel, and Juliet arrived right at the beginning of the party, as did Commissioner Patterson and his wife.

“Ah, the caroling team is here, I see.” Patterson beamed at the group.

“Not all of us,” said Richard. “The doctor and nurse from the hospital won’t be here until later.”

“Still, there’s enough of the group here to manage a carol or two.” Patterson smiled his _I expect you to do what I want_ smile. Richard had a feeling they’d been set up. He looked over at Catherine, who avoided meeting his eyes.

Camille, who had the same thought, noticed that Richard was tensing. Her mother could do penance for setting this up. That might appease Richard. 

“Maman! We need a soprano.”

“But…”

“The punchbowl will watch itself for a while.” Camille gave her mother a look that was almost as fierce as the snap-point move she used to manage Richard. Catherine joined the group and plunked a Santa hat on Camille’s head.

They sang a few carols, with everyone in the bar joining in. Patterson impressed them with his rich bass, and his wife had a lovely soprano voice. When the singing was over, the Pattersons excused themselves to attend the church choir’s warm-up practice/party. 

Camille helped her mother by checking the buffet and replenishing food as needed. She cleared tables a few times, too. But she spent much of the evening introducing people to Richard. At first he seemed uneasy, but he gradually relaxed. Not for the first time, she noticed how different he looked when he relaxed. The frown lines between his eyes eased, and he even smiled. Not the little nervous half-smile that he sometimes gave her—he had no idea what that smile did to her—but a genuine smile, sometimes followed by a laugh. 

When she set down a fresh beer on his table, he said, “This is getting embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“The money. Apparently, our caroling and the article in the paper have made the orphanage into the hot charity this year. Several people have asked me to pass on donations.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“I know. But it’s weird. I’m not used to this kind of attention. I mean, people want to meet me because… I don’t know why exactly, but it isn’t because I’m that strange English guy in the suit.”

“All you had to do is give us a chance, Richard,” Camille said softly. Damn, where was the mistletoe when she needed it? But this wasn’t the time or the place, so she lightened the moment. 

“And you aren’t the guy in the suit because you didn’t wear your jacket tonight. Although you do have on a tie. Where did you get it? Nobody has worked up the courage to ask yet. Dwayne wondered if you’ve gone a bit mental, but I think it’s wonderful.”

“What’s wonderful, the tie, or me going mental? Don’t answer that! It’s from Mum. She was inspired when I told her about the shirt. She sent this at the last minute—postage must have cost her a fortune. She didn’t wrap it, just attached a note that said, “Wear this!”

“And you did! You could have pretended that you did. She wouldn’t know.”

“Yes, she would. First off, I’ve never been able to lie to my mother. Second,” Richard sighed as he took out his phone, “She demanded pictures.”

“Good idea! When you send it, wish your mother merry Christmas from me.” Camille took the phone, sat in Richard’s lap, and took a few selfies. She got up and handed the phone back when Catherine called her.

Richard looked at the photos. He could do a solo selfie later. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain his DS sitting on his lap. Then he remembered the note his mother had attached to the tie.

_…and yes, the shirt is hideous. How wonderful! When you sent me the picture, I thought I simply must outdo your friends. So here is a tie in that spirit. Wear it to amuse your friends. I’m sure they’ll laugh WITH you, not AT you. Just give them a chance, Darling. And send me pictures of you wearing the tie! I’m sure Camille will take one for you. She sounds…_

Richard looked through the photos again. “Give them a chance,” his mother had said. And earlier, Camille has said, “Give us a chance.” So he chose a photo and sent it to his mother with a brief message.

_Happy Christmas from the Caribbean! Love, Richard p.s. Camille says Happy Christmas, too._

Most of the guests had left, off to be with family or prepare (sober up?) for church. Then singing erupted from the back of La Kaz

>   
>  We wish you a merry Christmas  
>  We wish you a merry Christmas  
>  We wish you a merry Christmas  
>  And a happy new year.  
>  Now here is a figgy pudding  
>  Now here is a figgy pudding  
>  Now here is a figgy pudding  
>  To bring us good cheer.  
>  You can’t go until you’ve had some  
>  You can’t go until you’ve had some  
>  You can’t go until you’ve had some  
>  So eat some right here.  
> 

Catherine led the procession, bearing a flaming object on a platter. When she set it down, Richard gasped.

“Is that really Christmas pudding?”

“Yes it is.”

“But where? how? did you MAKE this?”

“Père Noël brought it just for you,” Catherine replied with a smug smile. In truth, she’d found it from a restaurant supplier, but she could confess that later, maybe even offer to shop online for him. It all hung on his response to the French name for Santa Claus.

“Père Noël?” Richard raised his eyebrows. Camille tried to catch his eye and warn him not to make a comment about the French name, but it wasn’t necessary. He shook his head and continued, “I know he brings _cadeaux_ and _jouets,_ but this is the first time I’ve heard of him delivering a Christmas pudding.”

Camille smiled at Richard’s response. She set down a stack of small plates and a bowl of sauce. 

“We weren’t sure what to do about the sauce. There are recipes for a sort of icing, and also recipes for a runny warm brandy sauce. We went with the booze. I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“Would you like to serve it, or shall I?” Catherine asked. 

“If you would, please, Catherine,”

“There’s another one in the kitchen for you to take home, so I’ll give you a small piece for now.”

“That’s fine. It’s very rich and loaded with cholesterol.”

“I know, I was shocked when I read the—” Camille faltered when her mother kicked her “recipe. I don’t know what it will cause first, a heart attack or diabetes!”

Rob and Suzanne arrived in time to taste the Christmas pudding. Suzanne became teary at the taste, explaining that her grandmother used to make it. 

Rob asked the group if they knew “Wassail, Wassail.” Only Richard knew it.

“I know the refrain, but I can’t remember all the verses. I know there’s one asking for beer, and that it not be small beer. And there’s a verse about a maid in a lily white smock who opens the lock. It’s a long time since I’ve sung it.”

“Well, I’ve written a few verses, which Suzanne and I will sing. And you all can join in on the refrain.”

Wassail! wassail! all over the town,  
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;  
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree.  
With the wassailing bowl we’ll drink to thee.

Here is to Dwayne, who loves a good party.  
But the next morning, he isn’t so hearty.  
How he loves the ladies, we don’t know the tally  
There’s Mary, Peg, Jenny, Rose, Molly, and Sally.

And here is to Fidel and to his wife Julie,  
Now they are a couple in love very truly  
They have a sweet baby who’s called little Rosie  
She makes home complete and very cosy.

And here is to Inspector Richard Poole  
At murder a genius, at love he’s a fool.  
For his heart’s desire may be right before him  
If he’ll give it a try she will not ignore him.

Here is to Camille, so sassy and cool  
At crimes she’s a genius, at love she’s no fool.  
She’s biding her time and lying in wait  
Just hoping and praying that he’ll take the bait.

Here is to Catherine, who owns this great bar  
You’ll never find better if you search near and far.  
She always has cold beer and pots of hot tea,  
So this is our hangout, the best place to be.

Come Catherine, come fill us a bowl of the best  
Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest  
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small  
Then down shall go bowl, and beer, and all.

Wassail! wassail! all over the town,  
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;  
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree.  
With the wassailing bowl we’ll drink to thee.

Everyone applauded, and Rob and Suzanne bowed before taking their seats. Richard stood, glass in hand, and faced Rob. He hadn’t listened to the verses after his because he was busy composing a verse of his own. “I want to add another verse!” He sang:

Here is to Doc Rob and to Nurse Suzanne  
A tropical Christmas was not in his plan  
But that is what happened and we’re glad they’re here  
So let’s raise our glasses and toast with good cheer!

The group applauded his addition.

“How did you do that?” Camille asked.

“Do what?”

“Make up a verse. I mean, you did do that just now, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, well, at university when we were, um, in our cups, we would sing. And make up lyrics for fun. We used to challenge each other to write verses to this one. Once you know the meter and rhyme scheme of a song, it gets easier to write more verses.”

“Still, that’s amazing,” Rob chimed in. “I worked for ages on my verses.”

The party wound down shortly after the singing. Catherine and Camille were going to Midnight Mass. Fidel and Juliet were meeting some family members at the church before Mass. Dwayne was meeting some friends for Mass, and then off to an all-night party. 

Richard wished everyone a happy Christmas again, and went home.

-o-o-o-o-

After mass, Camille sneaked over to Richard’s house with a present. He had left the doors open for air flow and was sound asleep. She smiled when she saw that he had left the twinkling lights on. When she set down the package on his desk, she noticed scattered papers. It was unusual for Richard to be sloppy, so she glanced at a page. She couldn’t believe it! He’d been trying to write a verse for her.

>   
>  Here is to Camille, she’s truly a puzzle  
>  At times she’s so verbal I search for a muzzle
> 
> At times she is sulky, at other time sassy  
>  But she’s there when I need her, my favorite lassie
> 
> But she’s there when I need her, ready and cool  
>  So what should I do, will I look like a fool?
> 
> And here is to Camille my trouble and strife  
>  If you were from London, you’d know that means …  
> 

Then he scrawled across the paper “I cannot woo in festival terms!” Camille tiptoed back toward the door, left the package at the doorway so he wouldn’t know she’d seen his desk. She blew him a kiss, whispered “Happy Christmas” and left.

-o-o-o-o-

On Christmas morning, Richard was surprised to find a gift in his doorway. He wouldn’t open family gifts until Boxing Day—another thing he couldn’t lie to his mother about. But this wasn’t from his family, so he decided to be French and open it. It was a small framed watercolor of a green lizard, painted by a local artist. The card with it said “To Richard, Merry Christmas! Love, Harry”

-o-o-o-o-

It was quiet all day at the station. Most of Saint Marie was spending the day sleeping off a huge middle-of-the-night meal. Early in the afternoon, Camille stopped by with a plate of Roast pork and other food from their Christmas dinner. 

“Thank you, it looks delicious. I didn’t expect to see you today,” Richard said. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Enough. I’ll crash later, but stop by my house after work. I should be awake for a while.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll be fine. I, um, thank you for the present. But we said no gifts, so I didn’t get you anything.”

“What gift?”

“Camille, I know it was from you.”

“I only wrapped it and did the card because Harry had trouble with the tape.”

Richard raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, all right. I bought it before you said no gifts. Remember when I ran over to Victoire to pick up the stolen license plates? I stopped for coffee and the painting was in the shop next to the café. I thought Harry would want you to have it.”

“I do like it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” 

Camille was surprised that Richard had Christmas music streaming on his computer. She stopped to listen to an unfamiliar verse.

>   
>  In a year we all will be together  
>  If the fates allow  
>  Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow  
>  And have ourselves a merry little Christmas now.  
> 

“That’s so sad! Why would anyone change the song to that? Christmas songs are supposed to be happy. What happened to the line about hanging a shining star?”

“This actually is the original lyric. It was written for a movie in the 1940s, and it was a sad time in the story.”

“Why?”

“I don’t remember the whole story. My mum is an expert on old movies, especially Ealing comedies and MGM musicals. I asked about this song once and she told me it was written for a movie. It was during World War II, and soldiers overseas felt it spoke to their situation, so it became very popular. I’m streaming from a US website, and it’s been getting a lot of play today. I guess it’s because there are American soldiers away from home this Christmas.”

“And English detectives?”

Richard shrugged. 

“I could stay if you’d like some company.”

“No, go home. You should spend the day with your mother. Christmas is for family time. 

“The team is like a family, Richard. You don’t have to be alone on Christmas. And not just Christmas. You don’t ever have to be on your own, Richard. I’ll help you muddle through.” She kissed him softly. 

When she pulled back, Richard looked at the ceiling and said, “You didn’t hang any mistletoe, did you?”

“No. I don’t need a plant to make me want to kiss you.”

As they kissed again, the song came to its last line again.

> And have ourselves a merry little Christmas now.


	8. Happy New Year!

The week between Christmas and New Year’s was quiet. After staying up all night on Christmas eve, the locals were content to rest in preparation for another late night the following week. Tourists were less rowdy than Richard had expected, too. Camille said it was because this was a popular week for family travel, as schools were closed for the holidays. There were a few robberies at a high-end resort, but management preferred to handle the enquiry themselves, in an effort to minimize bad publicity. The only police help they requested was keeping a lookout for stolen items being sold or taken off the island.

There was one nasty fight at the airport, as a tourist returning home tried to take a knife on board in his carry-on bag. When it was confiscated, he punched a security guard. Dwayne and Fidel handled the aggressive passenger. When Richard looked the man over, he had a feeling there was more to the situation than just one punch thrown. Richard held all flights while passengers were sent through baggage check again. Sure enough, another passenger in the security line had an unusual amount of jewelry. Camille glanced through it and recognized several items on the list the hotel had given them. Both men were arrested. 

While passengers had been annoyed at the second screening, when word got around of the arrests, most people said they felt good about how safe Saint Marie is with a police force like that on the job. The Commissioner was pleased because anything that was good for the island’s image was good for him, and his position. 

In gratitude, the resort had given each officer a generous gift certificate for dinner at their restaurant. Richard looked at his. It said “Thank you for your assistance. Please enjoy dinner for two at l’Huître Heureux.” He wondered if an oyster could really be happy, especially if it was on a plate. He googled their menu, and discovered that it was, as he expected, largely seafood. Seafood was everywhere when one lived on an island. Perhaps it was time he gave in and expanded his horizons beyond fish and chips. He sighed, wondering if he would ever be brave enough for dinner for _two_ and seafood at the same time.

“Something wrong?” Camille looked at him.

“Hmm? No, nothing. Just checking the menu for that restaurant.”

“All seafood?” Camille smirked. “That’s too bad. If you don’t want to use the gift certificate, it would make a nice New Year’s gift for someone.”

“I’m sure you will use yours.”

“Yes, it’s a fabulous restaurant.” Now it was Camille’s turn to sigh. Dinner for _two,_ and the only person she wanted to ask didn’t want to go there. Perhaps a bit of prodding was in order. “Is there any seafood you like other than fish and chips?”

“Um, sure. There’s uh, scampi.”

“I suppose you like it breaded and fried, with chips on the side?”

“Well, it is good that way. Not bad baked in butter. But _not_ served with its eyes!”

“Clams?”

“Ugh, no. I don’t like thinking about what’s in them. You do know that you eat the whole body, right?”

“Yes.”

“Guts and all, it’s as bad as eyes.”

“So, no clams, no mussels.” She paused and raised one eyebrow provocatively, “No oysters?”

“Don’t need them,” he replied with a smirk. Then when he realized what an inappropriate remark that was, he turned scarlet and looked down at his desk, saying, “Don’t you have a report to finish?”

Camille watched him hunch over his keyboard, typing like mad. Had he inadvertently flirted with her? And would she ever get a chance to find out if he really didn’t need oysters?

Later, Camille returned to the subject of l’Huître Heureux with Fidel. He was already planning to use his gift certificate to take Juliet to dinner for her birthday.

“That’s nice,” Camille said. “It’s the sort of place you’d take someone special.”

Richard was trying hard not to listen.

“They do a big party on New Year’s Eve,” said Dwayne. “I’ve heard the food is incredible. Huge long buffet, all kinds of seafood.”

“No! You can’t go there on New Year’s. We have to go to La Kaz.” Camille turned to Richard and said, “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d spend a quiet New Year’s, call my parents at midnight their time, then make it an early night.”

“Absolutely not! You have to come to La Kaz, at least for a while. We can celebrate midnight in London, so you can have your New Year’s with us.”

“How are you going to do that?” Dwayne asked.

“London is four hours ahead. We’ll celebrate midnight in London at 8 o’clock. Then if Richard wants to quit for the night, he’ll have had his midnight, then we can have ours.”

Camille continued to chatter about the celebrations, but Richard thought about what she’d said. His midnight, their midnight. They’d made so many concessions to his way of doing things. Instead of him adapting to Saint Marie, his team had adapted to him. Perhaps it was because stations were bigger and busier in London, but he couldn’t imagine this happening anywhere else. 

-o-o-o-o-

At first Catherine had rolled her eyes when Camille asked that they toast the New Year at 8 PM. Then she got into the spirit of the idea, and made a list of places in time zones ahead of them. They would start with Paris, of course! Then London, the Azores, Rio, Buenos Aires, and at local midnight, Saint Marie. Camille was sent to the internet to find flags for the various countries and how people said “Happy New Year” in each place. When she grumbled to Richard about the trouble he had caused, he volunteered to research the greetings, leaving her to find and print out flags for her mother to hang. 

At 7 PM, La Kaz was quiet. People seemed to be saving themselves for later in the night. But Catherine popped open a bottle of champagne, and they toasted New Year’s in Paris, wishing each other “Bonne Année.”

As 8 PM approached, things were picking up. Catherine had music playing, and patrons were dancing. When she stopped the music and called for attention, people looked around wondering what had happened.

“It’s nearly midnight in England. So in honor of our chief of police, we’re going to celebrate New Year’s English style.” She clicked on the TV over the bar, where a cable news channel was highlighting celebrations around the world. People held hands to form a long chain, and then counted down the final seconds. 

“Three!”

“Two!”

“ONE!”

>   
>  Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
>  and never brought to mind?  
>  Should auld acquaintance be forgot,  
>  and auld lang syne?

Singing was followed by hugs, kisses, wishes of “Happy New Year!” and blowing of noisemakers. After a suitable interval for celebrating, Catherine announced that the next New Year’s would be in the Azores, put the music on again, muted the TV, and let her patrons go back to partying.

“Well, you’ve had your New Year’s,” Camille said to Richard. “Will you stay for another time zone?”

“I’d like to, but it’s getting noisy. I think I’ll take a break, maybe, I don’t know, walk back to the station for a while.”

“No! No paperwork on New Year’s Eve! How about a walk on the beach? It will be quiet there.”

Somehow, Camille managed to convince Richard to take off his shoes and socks and walk near the waterline where the sand wasn’t so soft. Carrying her own shoes, she walked in the edge of the water. 

“I thought you’d go home, since for you it’s already next year,” she said.

“No, I want to celebrate Saint Marie’s New Year, too. I’ve um, made a new year’s resolution.”

“Is this something you’re willing to tell me? Or is it secret like a birthday candle wish?”

“I, um, well, I made a resolution to learn to like being here.”

“You know, Richard, for anyone else that would _not_ be a difficult task.”

“I know. I didn’t say that well. I want to… You’ve all…” he paused to gather his thoughts. “I look at Rob and Suzanne and see how quickly they’ve settled in. I’ve spent nearly a year fighting everything about being here, and I’ve realized that was wrong. But I don’t know how, um, oh God, this sounds so pathetic.”

“What? Tell me.”

“Do you remember when Suzanne was talking me into wearing the shirt?” 

“Yes. You wore it to please her.”

“No, not exactly,” Richard paused. Was Camille jealous? He continued, “She said I wouldn’t want to be the odd man out. And I didn’t want to be, so I agreed to the shirt. But it’s what I’ve always been. I’m not good at fitting in. I mean, at school, I was rubbish at playing football, hated rugby. I ran. My athletic activity was a solitary one. I wasn’t with the other boys at team sports. I was the one who studied and read all the time, the boring one. I didn’t realize then that I was bright. I suppose I didn’t understand kids who were less able academically because I couldn’t imagine that everyone wasn’t equally bright. I thought the difference in grades was the product of different amounts of effort.”

“Oh, Richard,” Camille said softly. “You probably are the smartest person I’ve ever met. How could you not know how smart you are?”

“Please don’t feel sorry for me, that isn’t why I’m telling you this. It’s just how it was. University was better. Everyone there was smart and excited about their studies. Well, most everyone anyhow. And then I joined the police force. For a lot of them, it was brawn over brains, and, well, you know me. If there’s a mental solution and a physical solution to a problem, I’ll use the mental solution.”

Camille smiled, “Like the time you used the boat to catch me when Dwayne and Lily swam after me.”

“Yes. And I admit I tend to be smug when that happens. So I didn’t have a lot of friends on the force. I had a series of partners who found me too methodical and plodding. I ended up working alone much of the time. When I got here, I wasn’t used to having a partner. That’s why I tended to give you tasks more suited to Dwayne and Fidel. Because I didn’t see you as a _partner_. You were just another cop. I didn’t see us as a team.”

“I remember. And I lectured you on that first murder case. I have never been so insubordinate in my life!”

“Hmm, you’ve come close a few times since then,” Richard smiled at her. They had stopped walking and he was facing her. “But generally when I deserved it. And that brings me back to my resolution. I want to fit in better, to enjoy being here instead of fighting it. I tend to stick to what I know—my Englishness, my suits and ties, you know what I mean. I, um, that is…will you teach me how to be more Saint Marie and less London? I’m afraid if I try on my own, I’ll just look foolish.”

He was looking down now. He looked so pathetic that Camille had to blink back tears.

“Richard, are you afraid we’ll laugh at you?”

He shrugged, “It’s what usually happens. I know I’ve been foolish all along, clinging to my Englishness, and I suppose you’ve all had some laughs at my expense. But you’ve never been cruel about it. And although I’ve fought it, somehow you haven’t just written me off. We’ve become a real team and you’ve become my friends.”

“Of course we’re your friends! You tried to push us away, but we don’t give up on people that easily.”

“It’s strange. I’m thousands of miles from the place I think of as home. I live in blistering heat, sand everywhere. I have a tree growing through my house and a lizard that thinks it’s his house. My life here is completely alien to what I think of as normal. Yet in this place where it seems impossible for me to fit in, I think I actually can fit in. I want to be a part of life here.”

“You already are. You’re embarrassed to show that you care, but I know that you do. You didn’t tell about the palladium because you didn’t want the rainforest ripped apart. You helped find the money Vicky Woodward stole from the Marine Reserve. You came up with the idea of doing a donation instead of Christmas presents. You went caroling with us, and you even wore the silly shirt.”

“I almost sent the shirt to my dad for Christmas as a joke. But I thought we might want to wear them next year…”

“You want to be here next year?”

Richard nodded. “If you want me to be.”

Camille smiled, “More than anything. You’re my new year’s resolution. I resolved to find a way to make you want to stay.”

They walked back to town hand in hand. And when it was midnight on Saint Marie, people in the bars ran out into the street with confetti and party noisemakers. Fireworks blazed above the harbor. But way in the back at La Kaz, Richard and Camille missed all of that as they wished each other Happy New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My New Year's resolution is to keep writing Richard stories. I don't care WHAT BBC does, Richard is the Chief of Police in Honore. That's my AU, and I hope others will join me there!  
> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!


	9. Lagomorphs and Rodents

“Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!” Camille called out as she entered the station.

“What about rabbits?” asked Dwayne.

“Nothing, you just say it on the first day of the month, for luck.”

“I don’t,” Dwayne replied.

“Well, I bet Richard does.”

“Certainly not!”

“But you should. It’s a British superstition, after all.”

“Then why are you saying it?” Richard countered. “If it’s a British superstition, it probably doesn’t work for the French.”

“But it might.”

“Chief, do people really say ‘rabbit, rabbit, rabbit’ like that?” asked Fidel.

“It is a fairly common superstition. But as one who has studied science and logic, I cannot subscribe to superstition. A lot of nonsense.”

“Uh huh,” Camille narrowed her eyes, “Like the bayberry candle you brought to La Kaz for New Year’s eve?”

“That isn’t superstition, it’s tradition. And Mum made me promise I’d burn it for New Year’s.”

“Ah, so she says ‘rabbit, rabbit, rabbit,’ doesn’t she?”

Richard sighed, “Sometimes. If she remembers, she says ‘white rabbit’ three times. But it has to be the first thing uttered in the morning. If she talks before she remembers, she doesn’t say it, as it won’t work. So, Camille, since it’s _highly_ unlikely that you’ve been silent all morning before you got here, it isn’t going to work for you.”

“Too bad,” said Fidel, scrolling through a website. “It says here if you say it first thing in the month, you’ll get a present by the end of the month.”

“Well, it was the first thing I said. So I should get a present! And I’m going to add to my luck tomorrow. It’s flip day!”

Richard looked at the calendar and shook his head. “Tomorrow is February 2, Candlemas.”

“Right, la Chandeleur.”

“Candlemas.”

“Well, you may call it that, but it’s probably the same thing. Presentation of baby Jesu, right?”

“Yes, forty days after Christmas.”

“Well, the French eat crepes on that day. And if you hold a coin in one hand and flip a crepe with the other, you’ll have good luck. If you catch the crepe in the pan, that is.”

“We had a teacher from France,” said Fidel. “She used to have us play the crepe catching game in February. I guess it was the second, I don’t remember.”

“Ooh, we could play that!” said Camille.

“Don’t be childish.” Richard grumbled.

“Shh! Fidel, how do you play the game?”

“She would bring in a stack of crepes and some paper plates. We each had a plate, and she would toss out the crepes for us to catch. Whoever got a crepe closest to the center of the plate was the winner. But we were all winners, because we got to eat them.”

“See, Richard, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“For children. Which we are not.”

“Oh, okay. Then we definitely have to flip crepes,” Camille announced in a tone of voice that brooked no opposition.

-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, the team were busy starting their computers and sorting out tasks for the day.

“Hey, it’s Groundhog Day!” said Dwayne. “Check out the Google doodle for today. There’s a little groundhog and a shadow behind the letters.”

“Oh, that isn’t good,” said Richard. 

“What’s wrong with it, Chief?”

“Shadows mean a sunny day and a sunny day on the second of February means a longer winter. Oh wait, that doesn’t matter here, does it?”

“Why does a sunny day make winter longer?”

“It’s another superstition.”

“Right!” said Camille, “Like in the film!” 

“What film?” asked Richard.

“You’re kidding, right?” Camille lowered the pitch of her voice and said ‘Punxsutawney Phil, the seer of seers, the prognosticator of prognosticators,’ I forget the rest. But if the groundhog sees his shadow, it means more weeks of winter. Six, I think.”

“I know of the superstition, but not the film.”

“How can you not know that film? It’s great! Right, after we have crepes, we are going to watch it. You can help me count the days. I try every time I watch it, but I lose count.”

Richard looked over at Dwayne who mouthed the words “chick flick.”

-o-o-o-o-

In the month since New Year’s Eve, Camille had made great strides in reforming Richard. He now owned a light-weight suit and some casual clothing. She’d even got him to buy shorts and trainers. He wore the shorts only to run on the beach in the morning. While he’d given in to many of her “requests” (which he thought of as orders), Richard did stand his ground on a few things, like wearing the shorts anywhere other than the beach. In the interest of peace, Richard was learning to choose his battles carefully. He had come to accept that Camille could be an unstoppable force once she got an idea into her head. Oddly enough, the things she was most stubborn about were trivial. On a serious issue, she would be more open to discussion. Crepe flipping and chick flicks were trivial, so she dug in her heels about both. 

Catherine was already making crepes when they arrived at La Kaz, so she demonstrated the technique. Richard, who had practiced the night before with a pan and a round piece of cardboard, compared her flipping motion to the one he had perfected. 

“Should we be in here?” Richard asked. “I mean this is a restaurant kitchen.”

“It’s fine. We’ll do the contest out on the patio.” Catherine picked up two pans, each of which held a crepe, and led the others to the patio.

Richard suggested that Fidel and Dwayne go first. He took off his jacket and tie placed them on a chair at a safe distance. Then he rolled up his sleeves. Camille had said she liked that look on him, so he indulged her. Truth to tell, he did like feeling less warm, but she liked thinking he did it for her. 

“Is it like a race?” he asked. “I mean, do we say one-two-three-go or something like that?”

“No, they’ll just give it a try. Just one try each, boys.”

Fidel jerked the pan upward suddenly. The crepe rose into the air and landed in the pan, which was good. But it landed with the same side up, so that was bad.

Dwayne swung the pan forward, and the crepe flipped in the air. Unfortunately, he had sent it flying so far forward that he missed catching it.

Since they now had only one pan with a crepe in it, Richard bowed to Camille and said, “Ladies first.”

Camille was about to flip the crepe, but remembered her superstition. “Wait! I need a coin for luck.”

Richard dug in his pocket and held out a pound coin.

“No! I need a French coin.”

“But this is gold colored, isn’t the coin supposed to be gold?”

Catherine produced a French coin from her pocket. Smiling triumphantly, Camille held it up and took hold of the pan. Her motion with the pan was very much like Catherine’s. The crepe flipped over, and she caught it in the pan. Almost perfect, but it snagged on the edge of the pan. She shook the crepe back into position and handed the pan to Richard. 

Richard made a great show of holding up the pound coin. He shook the pan slightly, watching how much the crepe slipped around. 

“Hey, none of that!” said Camille.

“What? I’m getting a feel for the weight of the pan and the effect of the nonstick surface. It’s all about friction and inertia, and mass matters.”

“Just flip it!”

So Richard executed a perfect forward-tilt-lift move and while the crepe turned over in midair, he positioned the pan to catch it dead center.

“You mean like that?” he said smugly. 

“You were just lucky,” she huffed.

“Encore, then?” Richard executed another perfect flip. “What’s my prize for winning?”

“There is no prize. But according to the superstition, you will have good luck.”

“But the Chief doesn’t believe in superstitions,” said Fidel. 

“Ah, but the superstition might believe in the Chief,” laughed Dwayne. They started back to the bar when Richard remembered his jacket. He turned to find Camille retrieving it for him.

“So my prize is good luck? That sounds pretty vague.”

“What would you like as a prize?” Camille asked as she slipped her arm around Richard’s waist. She was pleased that in the last month he’d become more comfortable with the idea of public displays of affection. And very pleased with their more private displays of affection.

Richard put his arm around Camille’s shoulders and whispered in her ear, “I’ll think of something.”

-o-o-o-o-

After a feast of crepes stuffed with chicken in a light and—to Richard’s delight—not spicy sauce, Camille and Richard left La Kaz and walked to her house.

“I Googled this film and it’s about a guy who gets stuck in the same day over and over again. Is that right?”

“Yes. It’s funny, but it’s also about how he examines his life and makes changes. It’s sweet, really.” Camille sighed, “I know what you’re thinking. Chick flick.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you’re thinking.” Camille unlocked her door and they went inside. 

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t watch it.”

“Don’t make fun of it.”

“I won’t. A chick flick is easy to watch. They’re all pretty much the same, mostly variations on Pride and Prejudice.”

“No, this is an American movie.”

“But it’s Miss Austen’s plot. The main characters meet but they don’t get along, usually because _he_ does something that annoys her. And then _she_ tells him she hates him or thinks he’s terrible. So then he has to work hard to win her affections. And they have a happy ending.”

Camille smiled. “It’s a little like us. Didn’t I once say you were the most annoying man I’d ever met?”

“You did.” Suddenly, Richard looked stricken, “Oh no! Don’t tell me you’ve found someone even more annoying.”

“Not possible!” 

“That’s a relief,” said Richard as he wrapped his arms around her. “It’s nice to know I’m good at something.”

“Like distracting me so you don’t have to watch the film?”

“I’ll watch it.” He kissed her. “Eventually.”

-o-o-o-o-

When they were finally ready to watch the movie, Camille found the DVD and turned on the TV.

“Richard, I’m going to start the film.”

“Be right there.” He walked into the living room, buttoning his shirt.

“You don’t have to get dressed.”

“I can’t sit around in your house in my underpants.”

“I’ll get a robe for you to keep here.”

“I’ll have to get dressed to go home anyhow.”

“I know.”

“Camille, we’ve been through this before. It’s best if we aren’t too obvious. Everyone sort of knows, but nobody has said anything. Just a little while longer, and then we can tell the Commissioner that we’ve been together and it hasn’t affected our work at all.”

“I know.”

“Don’t pout.” Richard pulled her onto the sofa next to him. “Hit the remote and let’s watch this film of yours.”

Camille snuggled next to him and pressed _play_ , “No Austen references, please.”

Richard had to admit, the film was entertaining. He had some problems with the scientific aspects of it. Why was the main character the only one who knew the day was repeating? And although Camille tried to count the days, there had to be some they hadn’t seen, because nobody goes from stumbling through a scale to playing Rachmaninoff overnight. He wisely kept these thoughts to himself.

As they watched the characters dance in the gazebo, Richard listened to the song. One verse brought back memories.

> You give your hand to me  
>  And then you say, "Goodbye"  
>  I watch you walk away  
>  Beside the lucky guy  
> 

Camille felt him sigh. “What is it?”

“Just reminded of the night of the Erzulie festival. You going off with a blind date. God, how I wanted it to be me instead of him.”

“I wanted that, too. But you’re my date now, Richard.” Camille snuggled closer and they returned to watching the film.

Slap! Andie MacDowell let loose on Bill Murray’s face. Slap! again. And Slap! yet again.

“Arrgh!” Camille groaned. “This is where I always lose count.”

“That had to hurt,” Richard winced. “At least you’ve never slapped me. I suppose I should be grateful.”

Toward the end, when the characters were waiting for tomorrow—again—Camille said, “Oh, I love this line. Listen!”

> I don't deserve someone like you. But if I ever could, I swear I would love you for the rest of my life.  
> 

Fearing Richard would find the line cheesy, Camille glanced at him, expecting to see a smirk. But he was looking at her with an expression that made her heart skip a beat. 

“What?” she whispered.

“I know exactly how he feels.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rabbits are lagomorphs and groundhogs are rodents.
> 
> The song in Groundhog Day is Ray Charles singing “You Don’t Know Me”


	10. Be Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

Richard was seeing red. Not because he was angry, but because the color was everywhere. Red hearts, red flowers, shop windows were decorated in a Valentine’s Day theme. At La Kaz, Catherine had hung a picture of Cupid over the bar and strung heart-shaped fairy lights everywhere. Other bars were decorated, too, but Catherine always managed to do them one better. 

As they enjoyed their after-work drinks, Richard fidgeted.

“What’s wrong?” Camille asked.

“Change seats with me? That utterly hideous Cupid is in my line of sight.”

Camille laughed and rose to change places. Richard held the chair for her, and lingered for a moment with his hand on her shoulder. Fidel and Dwayne exchanged knowing looks. The two detectives had stopped trying to hide their relationship, although it was never talked about. 

As Richard sat down, he noticed that their usual table seemed to have extra decorations.

“Is it me, or does anyone else think Catherine went overboard around our table?” he asked.

“Hard to tell,” said Fidel. “The whole place is decorated. But it does look like she was generous with our table.”

“Generous?” Richard replied. “This place is like an altar to Erzulie.”

“Oh, you know what Maman is like. She likes to decorate.” Camille shrugged.

Dwayne grinned. “And drop hints.”

Richard grimaced as he was temporarily blinded by sunlight reflecting off a heart-shaped Mylar balloon. “Hints are supposed to be subtle. This is more like a full-on assault.”

“Don’t you like Valentine’s Day, Chief?”

“I have nothing against the day, but the commercialization is out of control. I mean, have you seen the shop windows? They all want to sell Valentine’s gifts. And they put up the prices. Take roses, for example. In London, the prize of a dozen roses skyrockets right before Valentine’s day. And then there’s the whole ‘perfect date’ pressure. Restaurants book up ages in advance. And they offer special Valentine’s meals. With inflated prices.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m cooking dinner for you.” Camille suddenly wondered if she should have said that. She’d already asked Richard and had planned a nice dinner. But should she have mentioned it in front of Dwayne and Fidel? Well, Fidel was no problem. But Dwayne was such a gossip! She covered with, “What about you, Dwayne? Have you booked a Valentine’s dinner somewhere?”

“I don’t have a date,” he said. “Not for that night. Too dangerous. Women read too much into it. They see a Valentine’s date as significant. It’s a trap. Come on, Camille, admit it. A woman’s expectations go way up for Valentine’s Day.”

“Some women expect a lot.” she replied. “But sometimes all a woman wants is a simple ‘I love you.’ That can be the best Valentine’s gift of all.”

“I have to do better than that,” said Fidel. “I say ‘I love you’ to Juliet all the time. I’m taking her out to dinner, but I’d like to do something more.”

“Sometimes less is more,” said Camille. “Don’t get sucked into the pricetag vortex, the way so many men do. Look for something with sentimental value. You’ve taken lots of pictures of Rosie. Get one of them enlarged and framed. Or a picture from your honeymoon or someplace that is special to you.” 

Richard listened as Camille made more suggestions. He already had a gift for Camille. He’d bought it a few weeks ago when he’d gone to Guadeloupe to pick up his suit from the shop. Camille had trusted him to go alone, as she’d been there when he bought the suit. Once it had been altered, he couldn’t back out of the purchase. He’d done some window-shopping while he was there, and this caught his eye. Actually, he had two gifts. The other gift, bought more recently, was silly, although it did solve the problem of how to give her the more important gift. So he had no need for overpriced flowers.

-o-o-o-o-

Instead of going directly to work on Valentine’s Day, Camille went to the market, where she bought a coffee and some pastries. When she entered the station, she was surprised to see Richard already there. 

“You’re here early,” she said.

“I woke early and went for a walk and came straight into work.” He smiled at her, then looked crestfallen.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, I just… I bought you something at the market, but I see you got something, too.”

“Then we’ll have to gorge ourselves. I bought a muffin for you.” Camille took the muffin from the bag and set it on Richard’s desk. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He looked at the muffin and smiled. A candy heart that said “BE MINE” sat on top of the muffin. Camille held her breath as she watched him. She’d agonized over which muffin to buy. “MY HOTTIE” was not a contender for Richard, as she knew it would embarrass him. But she’d considered “I LUV U” and a few others before making her final choice.

“Thank you. I’m afraid your croissant has no sentiment of the day on it.” Richard reached into his bag and took out a chocolate croissant with red and pink sprinkles on it.

“But it has chocolate, and that counts for a lot.”

Dwayne arrived while they were finishing their breakfasts. 

“Hi, Dwayne. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Camille gave him a muffin. He looked at it and laughed.

Richard frowned when he realized that Camille had bought Dwayne the same gift she’d bought him. Then he scolded himself for being jealous and asked, “What’s funny?”

“It says ‘FLIRT.’ I couldn’t resist, it was so perfect.” 

“What does Fidel’s say?” asked Dwayne when he saw Camille set a muffin on Fidel’s desk.

“Fidel’s says ‘U R SWEET.’ Well, he is. And he’s married, so I could hardly buy him the one that said KISS ME.”

“Did she get a muffin for you, Chief?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I should tell you what it said.”

“Oh, come on, Chief!”

“Oh, very well. If you must know, it said—”

“Good morning!” Fidel interrupted Richard at the perfect moment, at least from Richard’s point of view. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“And good morning to you, too,” Camille replied. Fidel was always good natured, but something in his smile said he’d already had a _very good_ morning. She bit her lip to stop from laughing. She could hear Dwayne chuckling quietly. She looked at Richard, who had obviously reached the same conclusion and was concentrating very hard on watching his computer start up.

Fidel picked up the muffin and looked at Camille. “From you? Thank you!”

“Well, you are sweet, so it seemed appropriate.”

“Fidel is sweet, I’m a flirt, and we still don’t know what the Chief is.”

“Busy!” said Richard firmly, and the discussion of candy hearts ended.

-o-o-o-o-

Later that morning, Dwayne and Fidel went out to patrol the market. Camille, who had a short attention span for paperwork, watched Richard work. As if he could feel her gaze, he looked up. 

“What?”

“Just wondering,” she said. He raised his eyebrows, and she continued, “What were you going to say about the muffin? You were working up to a smirk.”

“I couldn’t tell them what it really said. I mean, it was, um, I,” Richard took a deep breath. “I very much liked what it said, and my first thought was to say ‘I already am,’ but then—”

“Richard!” Camille darted across the room and leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was brief, but then he rolled his chair back and pulled her onto his lap. The next kiss lasted longer. Camille sighed and said, “Are you really mine?”

“Of course I am.” 

Camille kissed him again. As she leaned into the kiss, Richard’s chair tilted back and the springs squeaked. He brought the chair upright quickly.

“Not that I didn’t, you know, enjoy that. But I don’t want us to break our necks. Dwayne and Fidel will be back soon, anyway.”

Camille stood and smiled, “Later, then.”

“Definitely.”

“You still haven’t told me what you were going to say.”

“World’s greatest detective,” Richard said with a smirk. 

Camille shook her head. “I don’t think they make candy hearts that say that.”

“Probably not, but I liked the sound of it. And there probably isn’t a fortune that says ‘Your good looks and charm will win you many friends,’ but that’s what one of my classmates at university always claimed was in his fortune cookie.”

-o-o-o-o-

After lunch, Richard went to Government House for a meeting with the Commissioner to review staff evaluations.

“You have made all positive comments, Inspector,” Patterson said. “Is there no room for improvement?”

“I thought about that, sir. Yes, I suppose I could find changes to suggest. But I don’t know if they’d be improvements. For example, Dwayne cultivates a bit of a bad-boy image. I suppose I could ask him to change that. But he has an incredible information network, and I think a lot of that comes from his ‘one of the lads’ behaviour. So if he comes in on Monday morning with a raging hangover, he pays me back by knowing what’s going on around town.”

“A give and take?”

“Yes, exactly. To be honest, I wouldn’t look at it that way if we were in London. But I’ve come to acknowledge that things are different here. I need to work with the system that’s in place, not the system as I knew it before.”

“So you think some rules can be ignored?”

Richard felt as if he was stepping into a trap, but he wasn’t quite sure where the trip wire was. “Again, with a huge force like London, rules are necessary to avoid chaos. But here, where we’ve got such a small team, we can, hmm, how to say it? We can reshape some rules.”

“Reshape as in bend? Or break?”

“Sir, is there a specific rule you want to discuss?”

“No. I have to do my review of you, and I’ve noticed that your management style has changed in the time you’ve been here. You haven’t become lax, but you’ve learned to let go of things that don’t matter and use each member of your team to his or her best purpose. I like that you praise and thank your team members when they do a good job. I like that you recognize talent. Fidel is a bit young to be a sergeant, but you saw his ability and I have to agree that he is growing into his new rank nicely. So I can assure you that your evaluation will be positive.”

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything for the ‘needs improvement’ category?”

“Well,” Patterson drawled, “I can’t put this in a police evaluation, but as it’s Valentine’s Day, I would like to make a comment off the record.”

Richard hoped his panic didn’t show. Were he and Camille in trouble? He managed to get out a simple, “Oh?”

“I’ve been hoping you’d meet a nice island girl and decide to settle down and stay here. You should try it, you know.”

Richard thought back to the afternoon Camille had said that. _You should try it, you know. Love._

He smiled and said, “I’ll think about it, sir.”

“Good.”

Driving back to Honoré, Richard forced himself to relax. He was generally confident about his work, and had never feared a superior. But this boss had a knack for unbalancing him. Richard chuckled ruefully. He and Camille hadn’t hidden their relationship, but they’d been discrete. People knew they were dating, but he didn’t think anyone knew how serious they were. Well, _he_ was serious. And he thought Camille was, too. 

So was the Commissioner hinting that their relationship was acceptable? Did “a nice island girl” mean Camille? That’s what it meant to Richard.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard arrived at Camille’s house right on time. She was pleased to see that he was wearing some of the casual clothing she’d helped him choose on one of their shopping expeditions. Her eyes widened when she saw that he was carrying two gift bags, one of which was very large.

“Richard! You didn’t have to get me such a big present.”

“Oh, this isn’t a present. But I hope you’ll like it. I brought a few things with me.”

“I don’t understand.” 

Richard held out the bag, and Camille’s widened when she saw the contents.

“You’re going to stay tonight?”

“If you’d like me to,” he answered, a bit nervously.

“Of course I would!” Camille threw her arms around him and kissed him. Silly man, how could he not know she wanted him to stay! And not just for tonight.

Richard held out the small bag. “This is your valentine’s present.”

Camille pulled out the tissue paper and saw something fuzzy and white. The gift was a white rabbit with a red bow around its neck. In its paws was a plain red heart on which Richard had written “I love you.” She sighed. He _had_ been listening when she’d said sometimes all a woman wanted was a simple “I love you.”

“I do, you know,” he said. “Love you.”

She smiled and Richard thought he might die waiting for her to answer. The smile widened and she said, “I love you, too.”

-o-o-o-o-

After they finished dinner, Camille said, “You’ve been fidgety this evening. Is something wrong?”

“No. Dinner was delicious, and the chocolate mousse was a miracle.”

“Then what is it?”

“I, um, it’s the rabbit. You didn’t, um…”

“I didn’t what? Ask why you bought me a rabbit?”

“The rabbit was because of you saying ‘rabbit rabbit rabbit’ on the first of the month.”

“I’ll keep him near the bed so he can remind me. Won’t you, Mr. Bunny?” Camille picked up the rabbit and gasped. She looked at Richard, wide-eyed. No wonder he had seemed nervous earlier. 

“Oh, Richard!” She gingerly touched the ring that hung from the bow around the rabbit’s neck. “You were being so clever and I didn’t see it. I’m sorry!”

“Sorry because…?” Richard suddenly feared that he was asking too soon, that Camille would say no.

“Because I spoiled your surprise. Ohmigod, you think I’m going to say _no_?”

“Well, you haven’t said _yes._ ”

“You haven’t asked me yet.” Camille giggled and said, “This will be a great story to tell our grandchildren.”

“If you’re talking about grandchildren, I suppose that’s sort of a _yes._ ”

“If you want a _yes,_ Richard Poole, you have to ask the question.”

Richard tugged on the bow and pulled the ring from the ribbon. He slipped it on her left ring finger and asked, “Marry me?”

“YES!” 

Later, Camille wriggled out of Richard’s arms to reach for the bunny sitting on her bedside table. She took the heart from its paws and sighed. “The bunny is cute. The ring is beautiful. But this…” 

With her finger, she traced where Richard had written “I love you.” 

“…this is the best Valentine’s present ever.”

-o-o-o-o-

Every Valentine’s Day after that, no matter what other presents were involved, or what events were going on, they always exchanged simple hearts bearing those three special words, _I love you!_


End file.
